


Wardove

by Remnants_Spaceman



Category: RWBY
Genre: Airplanes, Anti-Faunus Racism (RWBY), Blood and Injury, Dieselpunk, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Swearing, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:36:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24466570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remnants_Spaceman/pseuds/Remnants_Spaceman
Summary: Sure, you can take its wings and replace flesh and bone with aluminum and steel. Sure, you can graft a little jet engine in, mount weapons, integrate sensors, among other trite "upgrades." Sure, you can turn a dove into a killing machine. But that's not what you're going to end up with. No, I know exactly what you'll have.A gun with a soul.Even if the nations of Remnant seemed to be determined to tear themselves to pieces, Yang Xiao Long was just trying to make it in life. Keep Ruby out of trouble, Tai off her back, and her own hands busy working for her family's aircraft maintenance shop. It wasn't exactly an easy life, especially with how close the savings account hovered around zero or how near the enemy bombing raids dared to wander. Everything could be lost in an instant. But with Ruby's new invention, they may be heading up in the world here soon. Unfortunately, life had a way of throwing screwballs every now and then.This one was named Blake.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 11
Kudos: 56





	1. Collision Course

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there, 
> 
> Welcome, and thank you for checking out my first public foray into creative writing. Upfront, I wanted to briefly talk about what led to this story. The minor reason was because I really enjoy RWBY, especially its characters, but I also really like dieselpunk. As you may imagine, I was bummed when I couldn't find any dieselpunk stories in here. So, I went "screw it," and started writing. The bigger reason, and the one that most directly led to this, was a fanfic writer whose blog I've been following for awhile now. That writer is Blake_Belladonna_Defence_Force, and she's been a huge inspiration for me to get up and write. Seriously, if you like the bees, I really recommend checking out her writing, she's got Yang and Blake's characters down to a science. 
> 
> I also wanted to address the tags. While I have the overall outline down, I don't know exactly what all will be in the story when it's said and done. I'm mostly going to have the characters driving things, which could go in some interesting and unforeseen ways. There are also going to be characters added as they show up. The point I'm getting at is that I'll be updating the tags as we go. You'll hear about it here, in the beginning notes for each chapter, as they roll in. As far as content goes, I'm not going to get explicit. Even then, if you think I should add a tag, please, for the love of Pete, let me know.
> 
> All that said, I hope you enjoy.

Tuckson Russet startled from his thoughts as the door to the field provisions office was pushed open. A young woman with dead eyes walked in, dressed in the jumpsuit, bomber jacket, parachute rig, and colored scarf of the fighter and bomber pilots that frequented the office. Of course, this one had the crimson armband that was only issued to fighter aces. Her boots clomped against the creaky floorboards as the woman approached the counter. He nodded to her as she approached, receiving one of her own in response. Her gloved hands set a provisions order on the counter and slid it to him. Tuckson took it and that morning’s ordinance inventory checklist and began reading the order, occasionally referencing the list. His brow scrunched up as he read, confusion and curiosity taking root. The order was odd, especially considering who had given it to him. Drop tanks, seriously? Where was she going? It wasn’t uncommon for the rookies to request things they didn’t need, especially the damn anti strider rockets, but this was setting off some bells. He looked back up at her, meeting the unwavering golden gaze of the woman across his counter. One of her dark eyebrows arched up, a silent question being asked.

“Why exactly do you need drop tanks for this sortie? I know you know about the fuel rationing,” Tuckson inquired as he stood up straight and crossed his arms. 

Blake Belladonna steeled herself and recited her cover story, “I’ve been tasked with delivering a docket of Class Two information to Vale Command. To summarize, Admiral Ironwood’s 18th legion is planning to annihilate our brothers and sisters stationed there. He will make his move soon. This information will give them the warning and instructions they need to evacuate operations and continue the struggle. I need the extra fuel load to make it over the ocean, I won’t be able to otherwise.” This exchange was taking too long. She’d made sure to approach when Tuckson was working because he usually asked few questions. Why did it have to be today when he gave a shit about the rationing?

Tuckson narrowed his eyes and asked, “Why not send it over the Clinker?”

“Too risky. If intercepted, it could cost us the entire Valesh front.”

He regarded her with the same skeptical gaze. A moment later he asked, “So, Khan’s fine with Commander Taurus putting all our eggs in one basket?”

“Yes, I have a written order.” Despite how level her voice sounded, her mind roiled in a state of near panic. Despite this, she calmly unzipped the chest pocket on her bomber jacket and retrieved the document. She hoped her hand hadn’t shaken too noticeably as she handed the forged order over. If she was caught, the hell she’d find herself in would eclipse and surpass anything she’d ever known. She’d seen, time and time again what her comrades were capable of. She knew what Adam had and would do. Even now, as she watched Tuckson read the order, her mind played several potential horrors like some kind of macabre theater reel. Each scene was more gruesome than the last, but they abruptly cut off as Tuckson sighed and nodded. He looked back up to her, his shoulders falling to a more relaxed stance. 

“While I can’t say I saw this coming, everything checks out. Shroud will be ready to roll in about ten minutes. Good luck out there.” 

“Thank you.” Blake clicked her heels together, dropped her left arm to her side, and raised her right straight ahead, her elbow making a right angle as her clenched fist pointed to the sky. Tuckson returned the salute with a nod before turning to the counter’s mic. As Blake walked back to the door, Tuckson barked several instructions to the airfield’s ordinance handlers. She grasped the knob and stepped into the cool air of Aerodrome Prime. When her eyes adjusted to the early morning sun, she was greeted with the gargantuan hangars and endless concrete of the White Fang’s largest military base. Dark aircraft huddled on the pavement in the hundreds. Most were small fighters tied down on the apron, but several bombers loomed from the open doors of their hangars. Several tugs darted up and down the apron, hauling ammunition, parts, and fuel to the slumbering harbingers of the White Fang’s war effort. Maintenance technicians swarmed several of the planes, great patches of their aluminum skin having been removed to access the planes’ steel guts. Blake’s ears swiveled as she walked. Through the cacophony of small engines, clanking metal, and vulgar laughter of the crews, she listened for angry shouts, thudding boots, and the click of a rifle safety. Subtly, her right hand drifted to her left side and pressed against her jacket. Good, the folder she’d assembled was still there. Blake breathed a sigh of relief as she approached her aircraft.

The Packson HK-46 Tempest may not be the newest fighter out there, but it was certainly still a terror of the sky. The fighter’s aggressive profile, low slung wings, eight machine guns, and contra-rotating propellers betrayed it as the predator it truly was. Most of the plane had been painted a matte black. The cowling encasing the craft’s massive 14-cylinder engine had been painted a bloody red that matched the slashed wolf’s head on the vertical stabilizer. The plane’s underside and tail fins had been slathered in white. The dark purple of the wingtips matched the color of Blake’s scarf. It also matched the cursive letters emblazoned beneath the canopy sill. _Shroud_ , she’d named it. Up close, Blake could see how the paint had been chipped at the edges of each riveted panel. She could see how the engine’s exhaust stream had left long smudges of tar along the cowling. Blake could remember the day Ilia had gotten curious and measured _Shroud’s_ streaks, confirming them as the longest, and therefore oldest, amongst the entire ace wing. She still couldn’t get over the irony in that matter. Unlike the other aces, whose craft bore dozens of small Atlesian and Valesh crests painted on their noses, Shroud was adorned by a singular Atlesian crest. If not for the wingtips and worn paint, it would easily have been mistaken as some rookie’s bird. Even then, It had happened before; several times actually.

Even as the workers around her finished prepping for flight, Blake began checking the fighter over. Today more than ever, everything needed to work perfectly. Her investigation, while rushed, spared no detail. She climbed onto the wing as she finished, taking a moment to look over the field before climbing in. A cool breeze picked up, gently filtering though her long hair. For the past six years, this place had been her home. Blake couldn’t fathom what she was about to do. She knew the information she carried needed to be in the hands of somebody who could stop what was coming and that the folder wouldn’t move itself. Screw the White Fang, this was so much bigger. Still, a part of her whispered that it wasn’t too late, that it wasn’t worth it. She could climb down, return the documents, and beg for Adam’s forgiveness. Whatever he did to her would surely be more bearable than what the Valesh military had in mind. That, of course, was assuming she didn’t drown in the ocean. She had enough just going off of the distance, but between unfavorable weather and enemy patrols, there was no guarantee she had enough fuel, even with the drop tanks.

The rest of her knew what needed to be done.

Hours later, _Shroud_ overflew the great canyons near Vacuo’s Eastern coast. Blake’s anxious mind had finally calmed somewhat. It looked like she’d successfully flown the coop. With the stiff tailwind she’d managed to ride to this point, she had enough fuel to make it to her destination with a healthy reserve left over. There was still the unknown waiting for her over the ocean, but she could take whatever they dished out. Her scars had been from worse. Plus, her cooperation and the information she carried should be enough to secure a position in a POW camp, safe from the wrath of the military. Adam, too. As gentle waves appeared on the horizon and the empty drop tanks she’d fought for fell away, a gentle sigh of relief filtered through her oxygen mask. 

“My darling, why do you hurt me so?”

Blake’s heart seized as her radio crackled to life. _How?!?!_ On the edge of hysteria, Blake swiveled her head to and fro, peering through the canopy. She quickly spotted the twin engined _Blush_ as it gently rose from the canyon below. He’d been following her! A switch in Blake’s mind flipped and her expression hardened to a determined scowl. _Blush’s_ mighty engines were making short work of the distance between her and Adam. He’d be upon her soon. She checked her ammunition gauge, grit her teeth in a snarl, and heaved back on the stick. _Shroud’s_ engine roared in barely controlled fury and _Blush_ responded in kind as the two craft bore down on each other.

Like hell was she going softly.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For the third time in about as many minutes, Yang Xiao Long picked up the handkerchief laying on her desk and wiped the sweat off her brow before continuing to write the details in the invoice she’d been working on. Her fountain pen stilled shortly after and, with a shrug, Yang adjusted her table fan and then leaned back in her seat for a bit, letting the air wash over her. Her Hawaiian shirt was pretty breathable and light, but none of those facts did her any favors in the muggy air of _Celica Aero Works’_ back office. Yang glanced at the wall clock, taking note of how little time she had left before needing to get airborne for the Board. Afterwards she sat up again, readjusted her desk fan, and looked down to the paper, now noticing the grease stain on the right side. With a groan, she wiped her hand on the rag tucked in the waistband of her trousers. Yang ducked to the drawer to fetch a new form, stopping when her hand had curled around the handle. She could hear the rumble of a car engine outside permeating through the thin walls around her. Thinking to herself, _this will have to do_ , she grabbed the stained paper and lifted herself from her rickety chair. Her work boots clomped on the old floorboards as she walked to the front of her family’s maintenance shop office, spotting the car outside through the cracked plate glass windows of the front room.

She recognized that old coupe. Sure enough, a regular of theirs, Mr. Kelly, stepped out of the driver’s side. He retrieved his worn out bomber jacket from the rear seat and then spoke with Mrs. Kelly, who had scooted herself across the front bench. They talked briefly, Mr. Kelly pointing back toward the path leading to the airfield’s access road at one point. Then, he leaned down, gave his wife a peck on the lips, waved goodbye, and turned to the office door. Mrs. Kelly waved back, smiling softly, then restarted the engine and pulled out of the gravel lot, heading back to town. Mr. Kelly adjusted his forest green bowtie and opened the door. He then promptly knocked his head on the top of the door frame.

“Oh, _Darn!_ Hmph, you’d think I’d learn to duck one of these days.”

With a chuckle, Yang replied, “Aw, don’t worry about it. Happens to the best of us, Clark. How have you been?”

“Oh, we’ve been well. Apart from this heat, good heavens. I’m just glad we saved up enough to buy one of those window air conditioners a while back. How about you, Miss? The old girl give you any headaches?”

“Yeah, I’m doing swell. As for your plane, nothing out of the ordinary. As a matter of fact, you’re in luck. See, the guy you talked to originally was dead wrong, that engine was underperforming because its fuel pump was about to tap out. I really don’t know where he got an unbalanced crankshaft from. So, rather than replacing the whole engine or doing an overhaul, I just replaced the pump. I checked everything just to be safe, but didn’t find anything else. Sang like a bird when I fired it up, with none of the performance lose you had before. Speaking of, I’ve got your invoice right here. Today’s total is $20.80.”

As she talked, Clark’s posture relaxed and his lips curved into a smile. When she finished, he pulled his wallet, exclaiming, “Thank the Brothers, you’re a life saver, Yang. I swear, I had to pick my jaw up off the floor when he’d given me that estimate. I don’t know what I’d have done, so again, thank you.”

Yang took his cash and brought it to the metal register on the front desk. Outside, a loud whine gradually became audible and strengthened. Honestly, Yang liked Clark. He was always polite, never made a fuss about how she ran things, or that she was working here to begin with. He’d been coming to Patch Field for his repairs for a couple of years now, always greatly pleased with the services Tai and her provided. It’d be nice if more of her clientele, however limited they may be, were like him. As she counted out his change however, it occurred to her that may not be so grand. Their service fees were really starting to get too forgiving, as the hardly filled drawer reminded her. Nonetheless, she closed the register and turned back to him. “Here’s your change. Your plane’s ready to fly, it’s on the apron near the main hangar. Now, any questions before I turn you loose?”

“Yes, may I ask what that dreadful noise is?” Just as he stopped, a loud _fwoosh_ sounded from outside. The whining, which had grown to a quite notable volume, rapidly tapered off back to silence.

Yang sighed, “Sounds like my sister’s trying to cook up something. I’m going to go check on her, unless there’s anything else I can do for you?”

Mr. Kelly shook his head, “No, thank you. In that case, I wish you luck. Have a good day, Miss.”

Yang smiled and shook his hand, heading out the door behind him. Outside, their paths split when Mr. Kelly turned to his plane, a beautiful twin-engined Lockhart T-35 Yang loved working on. She kept walking, passing the rusting walls of the maintenance hangar. She couldn’t help but feel despondent at the state her beloved field had degraded to. She counted at least four large cracks in the asphalt and _a bloody pothole_ on the edge of the field’s single runway. As she passed it, she affectionately thumped the cowling of her own aircraft, a yellow and black Ackerson PT-3 Bee. Walking beyond it, she came upon the smaller hangar nestled next to its larger brethren. The doors were cracked open in the middle and, even from here, she could see black smoke wafting from the entrance. Inwardly sighing, Yang opened the little side door and entered Ruby’s chop shop.

Calling the interior unorganized would have been a kindness. The little hangar could have fit her Bee, but instead housed several workstations and shelving units around its perimeter, each covered in a myriad of little odds and ends. Tools, scraps of metal, several parts, a plethora of various fasteners, one of Zwei’s chew toys; the list went on. The far corner was home to Ruby’s “think tank.” It consisted of a low desk with several engineering and chemistry textbooks spread on its surface, a pair of oil stained and threadbare arm chairs pulled up to it, an aging chalk board set on a pair of rollers (Yang didn’t even want to attempt to decipher the chicken scratch written there), and a drafting table which had a blueprint posted on it that looked quite similar to the machine in the center of the room. It was long and cylindrical, a little over two feet at its widest and stretching about as long as Yang was tall. One end (still smoking) pointed out the main doors and the other had a metal grate attached over the machine’s gaping maw. A six-foot-wide box of hazard tape had been put down on the floor near the grated end and it stretched all the way to the hangar’s wall. The area within had been cleared of stations and loose items. The contraption rested on a sturdy jig that had been weighed down with several heavy items, including the engine block from Tai’s old truck. The sides of the device bore a myriad of pipes and cables, connecting to various apparatuses bolted to the machine’s walls. Ruby had her back turned to her and was crouched on a knee, fiddling with the connectors to a device Yang didn’t recognize. 

“Hey, how’s it going today?”

Ruby startled, evidently having not heard Yang’s approach. “Oh, hey!” Ruby stood and turned to Yang, wiping her hands off on a rag from her combat trousers. “Well, I _almost_ got a stable cycle that time. Unfortunately, I believe the combustion chamber flooded and then stalled the whole thing. No dice this time, but I did get a pretty big fire ball out of it!” 

“Ruby, I wouldn’t call that a good thing. You didn’t get hurt, right?”

Ruby leaned back and crossed her arms, saying, “Pfft, me? Nah, I’m good.” Yang took a moment to glance Ruby over, just to be safe. Despite Ruby’s tank top, combat trousers, and even skin bearing a myriad of smudges and smears, none of them were red. Thank the brothers above. The only evidence of injury was the gauze wrap around her right forearm. Ruby had been rooting around the machine’s guts last week when she’d accidently grazed the inside of her forearm on one of the broken compressor blades Yang had agreed to help her remove. The resulting slash, while shallow, was a long one that had bled pretty quickly. Thankfully, Yang was right there and had remembered to check and make sure a first aid kit was nearby. Yang had her patched up in a jiffy. While it was now mostly healed, they’d agreed to leave the wraps on for a little longer, just in case. Speaking of which…

“Ruby, I thought we agreed you’d wear a long sleeved shirt when you worked on this thing.”

Pointing a finger gun toward her, Ruby smiled and replied, “We _did_ , and I did walk in with one, but I took it off. It’s so hot today and I don’t need to do any internal work. All I need to do is get the fuel mixture down, then I’ll tweak the startup procedure and we’ll be golden… apart from one minor problem. Well, I probably wouldn’t call it minor, but it’s not that bad, I swear! Here, let me show you.” Yang didn’t like where this was going, but followed anyway. Ruby strolled over to her chalkboard and flipped it around, revealing a more comprehensible set of drawings and figures. “Okay, so I realized this thing’s going to be a little heavier than I planned for, so I did some number crunching to figure out the weight and balance. Here, I’ve got the centers of lift and weight marked where they would be on the actual aircraft.” She pointed to the center diagram with a telescopic magnet. Where that had come from, Yang couldn’t determine. Ruby plowed on, “Now, while they’re extremely close to each other, that alone wouldn’t be a big problem. It definitely wouldn’t be a beginner’s plane, but it would be something you or I could take on. The problem comes when you factor in the immense speeds _Crescent_ will reach. As it speeds up, the additional airflow causes the control surfaces to exert exponentially more force, easily reaching several times the deflection force we’re used to. Couple that with the already inherent instability, and you get a plane neither of us will be able to control without devising some new kind of control assist.” Ruby collapsed her impromptu pointer and turned to face her crestfallen sister.

“Oh, _shit_. Ruby, we don’t have enough money to build another airframe.”

“But we do have enough to hire a new pilot. Preferably a reasonably young fighter pilot or somebody with aerobatics experience. It kind of sucks, but we can afford it and they’ll be able to pull this off, no sweat.”

“Can we really trust somebody not to screw us over?”

“As long as we pick the right person, we can.”

Yang couldn’t keep all of her anxieties out of her response and quietly asked, “You’re sure?”

Ruby set a hand on her shoulder, speaking quietly, “I’m certain. I know things are kind of rocky right now and I know how much is riding on this project. Believe me. But we haven’t come all this way to lose it all now. We made it this far, right? Once we demonstrate _Crescent_ to the public, we’ll have investors flocking to us like pigeons. We’ll have irrevocably changed the face of aviation as we know it and we’ll be making megabucks doing so. All the problems we face will be forgotten. Most of them, at least. We’re going to pull this off, I’m certain.” Ruby looked her in the eye and smiled, the inner edge of her eyebrows raising slightly. It was pretty rare for Yang to let everything catch up to her, but Ruby never failed to lift her spirits. Yang softly smiled back, becoming confused when Ruby’s eyes abruptly widened. “Also, I am really sorry, but I just realized there was oil on my hand.”

She lifted her palm and, sure enough, revealed the smudge beneath. The black stain contrasted sharply with the light yellow base and lavender floral print of Yang’s favorite shirt. With an amused huff, Yang shrugged, “It’s fine, Ruby, It’ll wash out. Thank you. I’ve gotta get airborne again, so please be careful while I’m gone. Dad should be back any minute now, so holler if you need anything, okay?”

“You got it. Be careful out there, okay?”

“You know I will.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two hours later, a lone PT-3 Bee flew along the Western coast of Patch. Make no mistake, Yang loved working on planes, had for years, but she absolutely adored flying them. Anytime she flew, she couldn’t help but let a wide grin make itself at home on her face, just like now. Up here, the only thing that mattered were the dials on her instrument panel and the sky all around her. She could spend hours here, fully at peace, and had been fortunate enough to land a job doing just that. As it turns out, the Vale Homeland Defense Board needed private pilots to patrol the waters of Patch in search of enemy boats, subs, and planes. If you found one, you were to radio it in and then get the hell away. It was a risky job; while sightings were rare, several pilots had been granted a watery grave by enemy fighters. On one hand, she felt terrified that Patch’s lone church would be ringing its bells for her one day soon. On the other hand, the pay was _terrifically_ good. They needed that money and it’d be better if it was her rather than someone else one day, so Yang flew the patrols. She pulled out her field binoculars and peered out the side window. Check the sea for periscopes, the horizon for hulls, and the skies for dots. Again and again, she went through the same steps. Coming up empty had been so common, she had to do a double take when she spotted a dot in the sky.

Her blood ran cold as she realized that dot was in fact a fighter. The black paint and snarling wolf’s head on the tailfin left no question as to who it belonged to. After a brief panic, Yang decided to maintain her current attitude, as the movement from a maneuver may attract its attention. If it saw her, she’d be dead before the waves would claim her. Her heart pounded harder, a cold sweat breaking out as the fighter continued approaching. At their current trajectories, it’d pass in front of and slightly above her. She was below its sightline, so there was a chance to escape undetected. As it came closer still, Yang realized it was trailing thick clouds of black smoke in its wake. She didn’t have enough time to reflect on this fact as the fighter suddenly lurched to its left. This is it, she’s done for. There’s no way that roll hadn’t revealed her to its pilot. She just hoped they’d all be alright without her. Yang screwed her eyes shut and prayed, waiting for the end.

It never came. She cracked a lid open just in time to watch it pass. _Holy cow, that’s a lot of bullet holes_ , she thought as it crossed by, now having straightened out again. It carried on ahead, bearing down on Patch. Curious, confused, and concerned, Yang banked and followed, firewalling the throttle to hopefully catch up to them. She should be getting on the radio, but she couldn’t shake the feeling in her gut that something was _wrong_. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to take a peak? She really had no business gaining as fast as she did, let alone at all. Even with her Bee’s modified engine, the gargantuan 14-cylinder engine and counter rotating propellers should have been propelling the fighter well beyond her. It just kept slowly gliding on straight ahead, occasionally pitching or rolling abruptly, but still maintaining the same general altitude and heading. Soon enough, she was nearly even with it. Yang gasped, her eyes going wide like dinner plates, as she got close enough to make out details.

She’d never seen a plane so chewed up. There were bullet holes _everywhere_. Most of them were neat little holes from machine guns, but there were plenty of ragged maws left over from autocannons. Chunks were missing from the wings, white mist running from the holes punched in the fuel tanks. A handful of skin panels had been ripped off, the plane’s aluminum skeleton exposed for all to see. The engine belched oily black smoke from about half its exhaust ports. Yang figured the other cylinders must have been dead. The entire top panel of the cowling was just _gone_ and the radiator hung onto the bottom by only a couple of brackets and a hose, the rest having been blown off. The canopy had several bullet holes punched through it, an entire plexiglass panel having been knocked out on the opposite side from her. She could see the pilot in there. They wore a dark bomber jacket, a purple scarf, and a parachute rig and when they sluggishly turned their head towards her, Yang couldn’t see their face thanks to the oxygen mask, goggles, and leather cap.

They stared at each briefly. Yang was at a loss as to what to do, right up until the other pilot’s head gradually lolled to the side. Their fighter dipped and then suddenly straightened out again, the pilot having regained control. _They’re blacking out!_ The realization struck her like a bucket of iced water and spurred her into action. She glanced at her radios and then mouthed the words, “Does your radio work?” It seemed to take them a moment to process and Yang had to repeat a couple times, even pointing to her own set, but they eventually nodded. Yang checked her radio dial and then mouthed the channel’s frequency to her companion. She could see as they sluggishly dialed in, actually having missed the knob twice before getting a hand on it. When they finished, Yang brought her hand up to her headset and keyed her mic.

“Can you hear me?”

It took several seconds for the other pilot to key in. When they did, she first heard labored breathing. Yang really hoped the light gurgling noise was some quirk of the radio. A quiet voice reached out, “…Yeah.”

Some small part of Yang remarked, _Holy shit, I’m talking with an enemy combatant!_ The rest of her had a job to do. “Good, my name is Yang. May I know yours?”

“…B…. Bl….” They gasped a couple times before swallowing and choking out, “...Blake.”

“Blake, hey, nice to meet you. Are you hurt?”

“…b-bad.”

Well that settled it. “Okay, there’s an airfield about twenty miles East of here. Low traffic, it’s owned by my family. I’ve got a friend that can take care of your injuries. I can lead you in, if you want. Sound good?”

It took her awhile to respond, but Blake eventually did. It was the clearest word of the entire conversation, “…... _please._ ”

“Alright, we’re going to bank left about ten degrees, heading is five zero. You’ll be resting in a cozy bed in no time. Heck, Dad recently made a pretty mean batch of cornbread; I’ll make sure we get you some. As much as you want. Just stay with me, you’re going to make it.” On her count, they began the turn, Blake managing to stay pinned on her wing. Yang switched stations and keyed again, “Yankee three two to Patch, yankee three two to Patch, please respond.”

Her dad’s voice replied, “Yang, what’s wr- “

The words tumbled from her lips, “Dad, I’m sorry but I can’t explain, I’m escorting a fighter to the airfield. They’re shot up real bad and the pilot’s hurt. I don’t know how bad it is, but she keeps blacking out. I need you to get Jaune on site fast, Ruby knows his number. And please clear the runway and apron, this is going to get dicey.”

“Okay, where are they from? Navy, army?"

Yang hesitated, but grit her teeth and answered, “Fang.”

“What?!? Yang, please tell me that’s a joke.”

“It isn’t; she’s got a wolf’s head.”

“…Okay, we’ll deal with that later. Thank the brothers, it’s just us here. How long do we have?”

“Eighteen miles.”

“See you then And please, for the love of the gods, be careful.”

“I will, thanks.” Yang switched frequencies again, “Hey, still there?”

Yang maintained radio contact as they traveled, making sure to pipe in every couple of seconds. Anytime she saw Blake’s head begin to roll, she keyed in, keeping words of encouragement flowing over the air. It seemed to be working, every time she spoke, Blake’s posture straightened, along with her flying. Yang sometimes asked her to respond to little questions. The words that greeted her were slurred and worsening. Yang was needing to say more things louder to get Blake to straighten out. She feared there would come a point where she could scream into the mic and get nothing in response, apart from a fresh crater and burnt aluminum. They needed to be on the ground ASAP. Hardly fast enough, Patch Field came into view. Despite how fried her nerves had become, Yang guided Blake in. She anxiously watched as first the fighter’s flaps, then the gear, deployed. The right gear wobbled in the wind, having taken a bullet through its locking mechanism. Yang trailed behind her, calling out her own altitude as they descended. Amazingly, Blake was flying a pretty good approach, despite likely being barely conscious by now. Yang touched down first, followed shortly by Blake. Astonishingly, the gear held, and the fighter began slowing down on its brakes. On the way down, Yang had spotted Jaune’s jeep parked on the apron near the far hangar. It was now burning rubber to meet them. Things were looking good.

Right up until that damn pothole caught the right gear. 

The gear’s leg snapped, folding beneath the wing. The wing slammed into the ground, sending a shower of sparks up as the fuel tank ruptured. The propellers caught on the ground, blowing the engine as the plane began to spin out, the left gear failing now. The spilt fuel caught as the mangled fighter spun and ground to a halt amidst a rapidly growing blaze. Yang gunned her engine, quickly taxiing to the downed fighter. She had an idea, probably a dumb one. Jaune was too far away, she didn’t have the luxury to wait for him to bring a fire extinguisher and had no hope of getting through the flames herself. It was either do something _now_ or watch the flames dance. Yang was suddenly very glad she and Ruby had souped up Bee’s engine. She taxied as close as she dared before whipping her craft’s tail around to point right at the fighter’s left wing. She then stood on the brakes, pushed the yoke as far as it could go, sent up a quick prayer, and fire-walled the engine. 

The propeller spun up, the whole craft straining against its brakes. Looking over her shoulder, Yang watched and hoped as the propwash began buffeting the flames. Thankfully, with how little fuel was in the tanks, it didn’t take long for the flames on the wing to dwindle and die, granting her access to the cockpit. Yang quickly killed her engine and hit the pavement running. Flames were already beginning to reclaim their lost territory, she needed to move. She got up on the wing and used the rag she always kept on her to protect her hand from the searing heat of the canopy’s aluminum frame. Once it was open, she wasted no time in unbuckling the limp pilot and pulling her into a bridal carry. Choking and spluttering, Yang scurried from the blaze and gingerly set Blake on the grass off the side of the runway. She fell to her hands and knees, coughing from the oily smoke and gasping in fresh air. After what seemed to be an eternity, she got ahold of herself and turned to Blake.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first thing Blake became aware of when she gradually resurfaced was how much her head hurt. Though foggy, she dimly recalled it bouncing off of the canopy when the whole craft had suddenly lurched to the side, shortly after touching down. Opening her eyes and glancing around the muted haze, she caught sight of a patch of bright orange light not far from where she lay. At first she was just confused. _Is somebody having a bonfire? Why am I laying on my side? Wait…_ Horror settled in as she realized that was her ticket to freedom. Had somebody not pulled her from the blaze, that would be her right now. That realization spurred the rest of her senses to start returning, the hot throbbing in her left thigh wasting no time to barge back into her conscious. Blake winced as the pain registered, letting out a pained groan. During the fight, a bullet had punched through her cockpit’s side wall and grazed her leg. It was a somewhat shallow wound, but she would have been done for unless she plugged it. As soon as she’d shaken her pursuer, that was exactly what she did, but the pain from the hemostatic powder was arguably worse than the original wound. It had continued burning, just like now. 

The throbbing helped clear the fog and more hints to her situation became apparent. Though blurred beyond definitive recognition, she could make out some blocky shapes in the background that looked like hangars. Close to her, she spotted what appeared to be a small yellow plane sitting nearby, one of its doors ajar. _That’s Yang’s, I guess that explains how I’m not cooked. Where is she, anyway?_ Her hearing had cleared enough to recognize that someone near her was busy hacking their lungs out. Blake glanced around, but couldn’t see anyone. Her goggle’s somewhat restrictive view certainly wasn’t doing her any favors, so she attempted to turn her head. Bad idea: the movement aggravated her already pounding headache and intensely nauseated her. Having to fight down a wave of bile revealed yet another problem.

Blake was getting lightheaded, now realizing she could barely breath through the mask. The same apparatus that had been supplying lifesaving oxygen not two minutes ago was now viciously limiting what reached her. Briefly forgetting why the inside of her mask had a thin coating of fresh blood splattered on it, she raised her right hand to remove it. The movement agitated the bullet hole in her side, which began screaming at her in a burning agony. Her whole body seized, a pained yelp leaving her. She was frozen, gasping tiny breaths as all she could do was ride out the pain. The darkness at the edges of her vision began creeping back in, the dark void reaching for her again. Pure, unfiltered terror took root and clenched her heart in its cold grasp. _Why can’t I move!? Somebody please help me! I don’t want to go under, no no no no please no! No, no nonononon-_

Like a blessing from the sky, light and cool air flooded in as her mask and goggles were gently lifted away. Blake closed her eyes and took several ragged gasping breaths, pleased beyond words as clarity slowly returned to her. She took several moments to just breath before cracking her eyes open again. It seemed as though she’d rolled onto her back at some point, and she could make out a blurry figure crouched over her. Not a second after it registered, the stranger yanked her left sleeve up past her elbow and efficiently inserted an IV needle into the vein at the inside of that joint. She groaned as the cold seeped in. The stranger (a man, she realized), handed the plasma bottle off to someone outside her field of view. He instructed them to hold it up and began fumbling around Blake’s collar. He gently pushed her scarf out of the way and grasped her jacket zipper’s handle and began pulling it down. _Immediately,_ Blake panicked and did the first she could think of. 

She slugged him on the chin. 

A loud clack sounded as the stranger’s jaw snapped shut. As he fell onto his bum, Blake’s arm and shoulder limply fell back to the ground. The movement and shock of the uppercut and its aftermath caused white hot agony to erupt stronger than before and Blake screamed, her lower back arcing off the ground briefly. She blacked out for what seemed to be hours. Seconds later, when she resurfaced again, she realized somebody had gently cupped her face and was using their thumbs to gingerly wipe the tears from Blake’s eyes. Blake reopened them and gasped. As it turns out, these hands belonged to a beautiful young woman with kind eyes, tears gathered in their corners.

“Blake, please, you’re safe. Nobody’s going to hurt you. Please, let us help you,” she pleaded.

Yang, this was Yang. Her voice was the same as the one Blake had desperately clung to conscious thought with. When she’d first realized there was a plane on her wing, Blake had been able to discern some basic things about Yang through the blur of her vision. However, now that she was right there, Blake’s breath fled her once more. It’s to be expected when one finds themselves this close to someone that beautiful, but that wasn’t why Blake’s mind was reeling. No, it was the expression of concerned empathy on Yang’s face. Disapproving scowls, indifferent glares, enraged shouts: they were all a dime a dozen. But _this,_ Blake genuinely couldn’t remember the last time somebody had looked at her that way. Not since… well, she didn’t want to think about that. Instead, she fought against her heavy eyelids and paid attention as Yang spoke again.

She spoke softly, her voice faintly shaking, “Blake, I’m sorry, but there’s a bullet wound in your side, and it’s bleeding pretty bad. We’re pretty sure it hit your lung. We’ve got to get down there to treat it, but to do so, we’ve got to open up your jacket and jumpsuit. I know you’re scared, but we just want to help you. Jaune won’t hurt you, I promise, and I’ll be right here. Please, may we help you?” 

Blake didn’t respond immediately, too caught it up the deluge of her conflicting thoughts. She did not want _anything_ to do with being made so vulnerable. Everything screamed at her to fight and run, that this whole thing was a trap. But all the same, she could feel the gurgling in the back of her throat with every exhale and the constant burning in her side dared to send her into oblivion with every excruciating spark. Despite the midday sun beating down on them and the warm jacket surrounding her, she could feel herself starting to shiver against the chill in her bones. As much as she hated it, this wasn’t going to be something she could deal with herself. She could either let them, or she would die. That may happen anyway, there truly was nothing to lose here. So, she swallowed her fears, closed her tired eyes, and forced her head to nod once. 

“Thank you, Blake. Do you want me to hold your hand?”

Before she could stop herself, Blake answered, “Pl-lease.”

One of Yang's hands left her face and gently slid into her right palm and Blake clung to it with what little strength she had left. She couldn’t stop the terrified little whimper when her zipper began moving again. Nor could she rein her breathing back from speeding up as her mind reeled. Yang gave her a gentle squeeze, and Blake zeroed her entire focus on that presence. It wasn’t until icy air began brushing against her previously covered collar bone that Blake remembered about the folder. She willed herself to whisper, “Wai… p-please.” Immediately, the hand that had been pulling at her jumpsuit’s zipper released. “Th-The f-f-fol-old-der. T-Take it.” It took a moment, long enough for Blake to fear they wouldn’t, but the folder nestled beneath her jacket was hesitantly nudged and gently pulled from its refuge.

 _That’s it, I’ve done it. Mission accomplished._ Had she been healthy, Blake was likely to be celebrating at the thought. Maybe she’d pump a fist, or do something equally preposterous. As it was, barely clinging to consciousness, gravely wounded, and shivering uncontrollably, she could only tiredly smirk. One last time, Blake forced herself to crack open an eye. At first, Yang was staring in awe at the folder’s contents in her hand. When she made contact with Yang’s anxious eyes, Blake whispered, “Th-thank you. I b-beg you, p-pass it-t on…. please…”

With that last word, Blake Belladonna finally let the void drag her under.


	2. Meet N' Greet

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there,
> 
> I LIVE!!! Sorry about the delay in updating, but the time has finally come. I've got more details regarding the delay in the end notes. Right away, I want to say thank you to every one who read my first chapter and to those who left kudos. You all are awesome :)
> 
> Two characters have joined the roster, but aside from that, I've added tags for fluff and angst. Angst is not prevalent in this chapter, but I can assure you, it's coming.
> 
> Without further a do, I hope you enjoy.

Yang ducked her head and spat out her toothpaste. Looking back into the mirror, she got a good look at the faint circles beneath her eyes. That wouldn’t be anything to note on its own if her hair wasn’t also a mess. Yeah, she had to get that under control. Yang grabbed her brush off its little wall hook and set in to the task. To say yesterday’s events had been stressful would have been like calling an Atlesian battlecruiser a simple rowboat. First there was the nail-biting flight, followed by the crash and the fire, and it was all topped off by her and Jaune trying with all they had to save Blake’s life. It was a lot to go up against. That pained scream had rattled around Yang’s skull long into the night, and it was only the tip of the iceberg.

Yang didn’t let her mind wander all throughout her morning prep, eventually getting her hair under control. She gave herself a once over and nodded, satisfied with what she saw. She almost forgot to remove the wrap surrounding her right elbow. The light bandages there were easy to undo and she discarded them into the waste bin. She then turned out of the water closet and walked down the hall of her home’s second floor. At the end of the hall was the landing for the top of the stairs and on either side of her were the doors to the one of the guest rooms on her right and Ruby’s room on the left. Jaune had been an early riser for as long as she’d known him, even more so than herself, so it was no surprise to see the door open and the room within spotless. The other was closed, but she couldn’t hear any snoring in there. Ruby was normally the type to sleep in on her days off but, with how near to completion her project had drawn, she’d been rising earlier to work even longer. Yang just hoped she would quit forgetting to give herself time to rest. She’d seen the way Ruby’s hands were starting to shake, even when she wasn’t doing anything with them. Yang took the stairs and descended into the first floor front room. Straight ahead of her was the front door, but instead she followed her nose through the large doorway to her right.

The dining room and attached kitchen was where she found Jaune Arc. Yang perked up when she noticed the uniform fatigues he wore were looking a little more crumpled than usual. That was never a good sign. He had just poured himself a mug from the coffee pot when she’d walked in. He nodded to her, saying, “Good morning, Yang.”

“Hey, morning. How’re you doing, buddy?”

He shrugged, looking into his mug, “I’ve had better days, but I’ve also had worse. I think I’ll be okay.”

“That’s good. Just don’t hesitate to reach out, okay?”

“I hear ya, thanks. Actually, I had a… uh… a request…”

“What’s up?” 

Jaune stalled for a bit, idly swishing his mug around. Yang patiently waited, standing by for when he was ready. Eventually, he looked up and shyly asked, “Can you come check on, uh, you know, with me? I don’t want to do it alone…”

“Of course. When did you want to go in there?”

“Right after I get this down.” He raised his mug a bit.

“I’ll be with you.”

“Thanks, Yang. I appreciate it.”

As it turned out, Tai had made breakfast before heading to work at the airfield and stashed it on a large platter in the oven. Grits and scrambled eggs were the day’s offerings. She had some while Jaune sipped from his mug. She could tell he was psyching himself up; any other day he’d have gone straight to checking up on his patient. Considering what exactly they were up against, Yang could understand why he was hesitating and why he wanted backup. Even as she sat here across the table from Jaune, she could watch as his gaze slowly zoned out, his mind likely taking off to someplace far from the quiet dining room he sat in. She gently nudged his boot, mildly startling him from his thoughts. He returned the smile she gave him. Taking one last swig, he set his mug on the table and rose from his chair. “Alright, let’s get this done.”

Yang got up and followed him out of the dining room. They passed through the door way and into the little hall on the other side of the cozy little front room. Of the three doors here, he placed his hand on the left door’s knob. He hesitated again, so Yang gave him an encouraging pat on the shoulder. he smirked over his shoulder, took a breath, and gently opened the door. The room beyond was the residence’s other guest room. Simple furnishings were within; a desk with Jaune’s Gladstone bag set atop it and a chair in the far right corner, a wooden dresser along the left wall, and a bed just large enough for the room’s sole occupant tucked into the far left corner. Blake was still out cold, but she was at least looking a little healthier than yesterday. Her skin was still a little too pale for comfort, but at least it didn’t blend in with the white pillow her head rested on anymore. Jaune cautiously walked to the desk and pulled his stethoscope and an oral thermometer from the bag. He then turned and walked to the bed and hesitantly crouched down to his knee at its side. 

Yang crouched down beside him and quietly spoke, “Alright, talk me through it, buddy. What are you doing?”

Jaune took a breath and started, working as he spoke. “Right, we need to check her heart rate, temperature, and the, umm, th-the wounds’ wraps. Especially the che-est. I, uh, can start with the thermometer.” He carried on rambling, quietly announcing his actions and thoughts. Normally, Jaune was an efficient and tireless caregiver, doing everything in his power to keep the futures of those he cared for an assurance rather than a slim possibility. Yang knew he’d seen some gruesome wounds since being stationed here by the Defense Board. She remembered holding Ruby for hours after the explosion at Winchester Munitions just two months prior. Three dead right off the bat, nothing to bury, with another 26 in varying states of injury. Four of those people didn’t make it. Another three would never walk again. Jaune hadn’t faltered once in responding to that industrial nightmare, especially when someone’s life delicately teetered on the tip of his scalpel. No, it was when he had time to think, to reflect on the fact that a _bullet_ had caused this suffering, that he hesitated. Together, they’d figured out that having him announce his thoughts kept him focused on what he was doing rather than why he had to. Yang couldn’t be there for him all the time, but she could still lend him a hand when the opportunity came up.

He worked as though handling something fragile and precious. He made sure to move carefully when his hand drew near to her, and he practically froze for a solid three seconds when he’d nearly backed his wrist into Blake’s nose. Not that it would have actually caused any damage. Yang couldn’t help but chuckle at the how he deflated like a clown’s shoddy balloon animal when it finally clicked that he’d reacted in time, a relieved grin on his face. The temperature came back a little low, but within acceptable range. Her heart beat slowly, but steadily. Now it was just time to check the wraps. He’d had to pull the blanket down a bit to place the stethoscope over Blake’s heart, but when he reached to pull it down further, his hand began shaking. 

He pulled it back in, taking it in his other hand and whispered, “Yang, I-I… Can you please check for me?”

Yang set her hand on his shoulder and replied, “Of course. You did good, Jaune. Go ahead and get some air, I’ve got this.”

“Al-alright. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry, it’s okay.”

Jaune nodded gratefully and quietly took his leave. Yang sighed and turned back to Blake. Gently, she pulled the cover down and folded it back over Blake’s shins. She checked her thigh first, seeing as most of the gauze there peeked out from beneath the shorts Yang had lent her. The gauze had held up, nothing had leaked through. That fact was unsurprising really, the clot there had done most of the work already. When they’d gotten Blake back to the house and on the little fold up cot from Jaune’s jeep, he’d only had to clean the wound and wrap it. Even then, he’d been comfortable leaving it be while he worked on the bullet hole in her lung. Speaking of which, Yang gently undid the bottom half of the buttons on Blake’s shirt and opened the sides just enough to get a good look at the gauze circling her lower ribcage. The part over the wound had some minor staining, but it didn’t look like it was anything beyond what was expected. Regardless, they’d have to replace it soon, tomorrow if she had to guess. She wasted no time in redoing the buttons, fighting down the embarrassed blush on her cheeks. 

As uncomfortable as it had been to change an unconscious person’s clothing, the things Blake had arrived in were too soaked in sweat and blood to stay. So, Yang had fetched a pair of her pajama shorts and a button-up pajama shirt and done the deed. They fit loosely, Blake was a couple inches shorter and built thinner than herself, but it worked. Still, Yang had seen grisly grown men that had towered over own head with fewer scars than what Blake had. Most of the ones Yang had seen had been various cuts littered about and a couple small, round scars from old bullet wounds. Joining them were several bruises, all in different stages of healing. There was the edge of something big peeking over her left shoulder, but Yang hadn’t looked at it. All of this was her business, not Yang’s. Doing these things made Yang feel slimy as can be, but she knew they had to make sure Blake would be okay. She just hoped Blake would forgive her, or at least understand. She fastened the last button and lightly draped the cover back over her.

Yang stood up and turned to the door. She had set her hand on the knob but, before she turned it, she peeked over her shoulder. Apart from Jaune’s bag and the bruise at the corner of her forehead, Blake appeared to simply just be sleeping in before a lazy day off. Her face was entirely relaxed, no sign of distress to be found and the ears at the top of her head gently twitched on occasion. It was all a far cry from yesterday. Back then, when Jaune had started unzipping her Jacket, there had been a moment of hesitation before Blake had punched him. Her eyes had widened and Yang couldn’t shake the sheer terror she’d seen in those golden irises; they’d stared back at her when she’d closed her own eyes all throughout the previous evening. Enemy or not, Yang hoped Blake would find some comfort when she woke. For now, she needed to check on Jaune and let him know what she’d found.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taiyang Xiao Long had never liked paperwork. If it was just him running _Celica,_ he’d be out working with the planes in the maintenance hangar all day long. But, considering Ruby and Yang especially were better at the job and, more importantly, that they always brightened up a bit when they even so much as glanced at an airplane, Tai happily took care of the office work. Honestly, between Yang and Ruby, they were the ones driving this business onward, not him. He was just supporting them, something he would _always_ do with no hesitation. Brothers above, he was so proud of them. Still, he couldn’t help but chuckle at his younger self. For somebody who had sworn never to work through a pen, he had a pretty sizable pile of documents in his “out” bin. With a satisfied sigh, he set his pen down and leaned back in his chair, which angrily creaked back at him. They had three client’s aircraft in the hangar and he’d finally gotten their paperwork caught up. That would have been already dealt with, if not for yesterday. 

If some fortune teller had told him what was coming, he would have laughed himself right out of his chair. It sounded like something straight out of the penny comics, it was so ridiculous! Nonetheless, he’d heard Yang’s radio call, seen the crash, and he’d ridden out with Jaune and Ruby in that jeep of his. He hadn’t seen somebody that banged up since settling down in Patch with Raven. It wasn’t anything that he hadn’t seen before mind you, but what got to him was how young that poor pilot was. She couldn’t have been older than 20. Some poor shmuck’s precious daughter was bleeding out on his runway and they had _no idea._ As a father, that thought terrified him. Kids were marching to war all the time these days, how easy would it have been to be Ruby or Yang in that awful position? There was a lot of unknowns and pitfalls in the situation they all now found themselves in, but he’d be damned if he just forked her over to the military right off the bat. He couldn’t bring himself to do it just yet, but he knew precisely who he prioritized in this mess. Still, he wanted to talk to this girl (Blake, Yang had told him). Yang had an idea that would let her stay here for a while, but he needed to see for himself if that was even worth considering. 

He also wanted to know what the deal with that folder was. Just before she’d gone with Jaune up the hill to the house, Yang had handed it to him. She’d said, “keep this safe,” and then they’d burned rubber up the hill, leaving Ruby and himself to deal with the wreck. Tai had stashed the documents in the old cast iron safe in the back office, and then he’d helped Ruby put out the fire and haul the debris to the boneyard behind the smaller hangar. It had taken them all day to do the job, and they were lucky Ruby had remembered to switch the automated broadcast radio she’d built to tell any traffic in the area that the field was closed. With the tarp they’d thrown over it, the fighter would hopefully blend in with the other mechanical corpses Ruby pulled salvage from. He hadn’t had time to look at the folder then, but now that he’d completed his work, it seemed like as good a time as any. Tai hauled himself out of his chair and crouched down to the safe in the back corner.

_Ding_

Now that was funny. That was the bell on his shop’s front counter. Hearing it now would mean that somebody had walked in and hit it, but that would mean a car had shown up. He’d have heard its engine through these thin walls, so how was the bell going off when he hadn’t heard anything at all? Tai rose again, pulled out his keychain, and unlocked the top left drawer in the desk with the red key. Pulling it open, he removed his old service revolver from its lair. Considering yesterday, he had a bad feeling as to who was out there. Moving mechanically, he opened the cylinder, checked the ammunition (all eight slots loaded, fresh primers gleaming back at him), closed the cylinder, and stashed the gun beneath his back waistband, making sure his work shirt concealed its presence. As he took the hall back to the front, he found himself sliding back into the mind state he used to live so many years of his life in. It’d been so long; he had forgotten what it meant to be prepared to take a life. Not that he wanted to.

Rather than meeting some stern military police commander and his lackeys of the week, a young woman, probably about Yang’s age, stood in his front room. Despite wearing a finely tailored pea coat, she didn’t seem to have been bothered at all by the midday heat. If he had any doubts as to what her last name was, they were banished upon seeing the girl’s long white ponytail (off centered, curiously enough), and light blue eyes. He’d never seen her in person, but there was seriously no question as to who this was, especially with the distinctive scar crossing her left eye. Glancing over her shoulder, he could see the white limousine she’d arrived in. That figures, it was one of the new Schnee Motor Division Ghosts that had been all the rage up in Atlas lately. Instead of wheels, it had metal rings sticking out of where they would have connected to the axels. Contained within special couplers on either side of the rings’ inner edges were precisely cut gravity dust crystals. By controlling how much electricity passed through the crystals, the car could be made to hover and glide above the ground at will. With a regular engine powering its ample batteries, the car could make no sound at all as it moved. That was a huge selling point amongst the elite, and boy did they pay handsomely for it. Between the dust, meticulously polished chrome fittings, and elegantly swooping bodywork, he had no doubt it cost more than this entire airfield. A chauffeur stood at attention beside the rear passenger door. Poor guy, he had to be boiling alive in that stuffy white suit. He returned his attention to Weiss Schnee as she spoke.

“Good afternoon sir, are you Mr. Xiao Long?”

Tai released most of the tension in his shoulders and placed his hands on the counter, replying, “Please, it’s just Tai. But yeah, that’s me. What can I do for you, Miss Schnee?” 

Evidently, he’d thrown her off a bit with the first name basis. She wasn’t able to fully suppress the way her eyes widened slightly. Nonetheless, Weiss reigned herself back to the friendly smirk she’d started with and said, “I was hoping to speak with your daughter, Ruby Rose. Our scouts have identified her as a potential candidate for our heavy engineering division and, with your permission, I was hoping to interview her and potentially offer her a position in Atlas.”

Tai already had a good idea as to the response she’d get, but he couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride for his daughter. The SDC didn’t pick people unless they truly wanted what they were offering, and they’d taken a look at Ruby and said, “yes.” He knew she’d be beyond safe up there, several times more than here. The pay would have her set for life. She could have everything she ever desired. All the same, this was her call, and he’d stand by it regardless to what she chose. “Ruby’s back in the main hangar. I can walk you over if you want.”

“That would be lovely, thank you.” The smirk she wore shifted slightly, now looking genuine. Mostly.

As he walked around the counter’s corner and held the door for her, Tai asked, “Say, what does your heavy engineering team build again? Striders mostly, right?”

Weiss pointed one of her fingers upwards as she answered, “Among other military hardware, yes. The Schnee Dust Company is proud to supply the kingdoms of Atlas and Vale with everything they need to secure peace, both at home and abroad.” Oh, he could hear the satisfaction practically _oozing_ off of her words. Too bad, really.

“May I offer some advice?”

“Of course.”

“Do yourself a favor, and offer something else.”

He’d stunned her into a brief silence with that, nothing but the sound of their soles on the pavement. When Weiss recollected herself, she growled out, “It’s bold of you to assume this is the first potential employee I’ve interviewed, or that _you_ know more about who we’re interested in hiring than _we_ do.”

He turned to face the haughty scowl she regarded him with. Her tune shifted pretty quick when they made eye contact, she actually took a step back. In a quiet and level tone he said, “And it’s bold of you to act as though _you_ know Ruby better than _I_ do. I’m warning you, if you want her on board, pick another tree.”

He turned back ahead and they walked in silence for some time. Weiss took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry Mr. Xiao Long, you’re right. It was completely out of line for me to act in that way and I apologize for that. However, I know what I came here to do and I stand by that fact.”

“That’s your business, just don’t be persistent when she won’t bite. You’ll regret it.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As many times as she’d done it, coming up from deep unconsciousness had never been pleasant. It wasn’t like waking up from simple sleep. Rather than existing in that comfortable twilight region between rest and wakefulness momentarily, she would find herself in a state where she seemingly floated in the nothingness. She was awake, Blake knew that, but none of her senses were reporting _anything_ and her muscles refused to respond to her commands. She couldn’t even put a thought together beyond nebulous instincts. It was terrifying, she’d exist in this hellish state for what felt like days with no guarantee that she’d ever see the light of day again. One of these days, she’d be greeted by whatever was beyond life. So far, she’d been lucky enough to avoid such a fate. Now, as much as it surprised her, it looked like her luck was continuing.

It was always her sensitive feline ears that first called through the void. Blake had no idea why that was the case, they just did. Now, they seemed to be picking up on several things. She could hear old floorboards creaking, what sounded like a wireless in another room, the distant clanking of pots and pans, and somebody snoring near her. Lovely, there was a guard. What else was she expecting? The realization spurred the process along, Blake’s touch and kinesthetic sense both now coming online. She could tell she was laying on her back, in what felt like a soft bed. She had to admit, it’d been a long time since she’d rested in anything as comfortable as what she was now in, especially a bed with a pillow that wasn’t a mere afterthought. There was a thick blanket up to her collarbone, and its gentle weight was a relaxing presence to her. She didn’t recognize the clothes she wore, but they were soft and cozy. Oh, she could _definitely_ spend some time here. Not that she should. It was around the point when Blake figured she could probably open her eyes now that it finally clicked.

She was alive.

Fighting against their weight, Blake’s eyes were greeted with an unfamiliar ceiling when they finally cracked open. She gave her vision some time to clear, glancing around slowly when indistinct blurs and shapes solidified into recognizable objects. The open window over her left shoulder let the amber light of a setting sun in and she could see what looked like Yang with her head resting on a desk. She didn’t look armed, but there easily could be a pistol on her hip, hidden from view. Confirming that was where the snoring was coming from (dear Mother, it was), Blake turned her attention to her own body. It felt like there was thick gauze wrapped around her left thigh and lower chest, with some lighter bandaging around her left elbow. Just to be certain, she dragged her arm from beneath the covers and inspected it. The bandages were there, holding a cotton ball against the crook of her elbow. They must have given her plasma. Blake had been certain she was dying back then, so to find that they’d actually saved her life came as a surprise. What were they planning? They had the intel, why did they need her? With a long sigh, Blake made peace with the fact that she was at their mercy and sluggishly buried her arm back beneath the blanket. As woozy and weak as she felt, Blake knew she wouldn’t be able to run, let alone fight. Becoming a prisoner was what she’d accepted when she’d set out, after all. There was no point in getting her hopes up. She just wished they would be merciful. She closed her eyes again, electing to take pleasure in this comfort while it lasted. Things were quiet for a bit.

In the not-quite distance, the crack of a rifle echoed.

Blake’s eyes flew open as her arm flung the blanket off of her. Some primal part of her mind screamed _the enemy is here, get up and FIGHT!_ On a panicked autopilot, Blake shed the blanket and sat up abruptly. It was around the time her left leg had cleared the bed’s edge that the agony in her side slammed into the forefront of her mind. With a pained cry, her left hand flew to her side and she fell off the bed, thumping roughly against the carpeted floor. She lay there for a bit, pained groans hoarsely passing through her teeth. It wasn’t until she caught a glimpse of someone’s trouser leg and boot in the corner of her vision that her panic reignited, brighter than before. Despite the pain, Blake scrambled to and pressed her back into the corner where the bed met the wall. She brought her knees to her face and protected her head with her forearms, making herself as small a target as possible. 

Nothing happened. Her ragged gasps escalated to actual hyperventilation. Tears began streaming down her face. She knew He only hesitated before doing his worst, too caught up in his roiling rage to act immediately. As the seconds dragged on, she realized that it was quiet. Just to be certain, she unpinned one of her ears, the other soon joining it. That was odd. He’d always be yelling, even if it was sometimes incoherent snarling. There was nothing. Maybe she had overreacted, He was always chiding her on that nasty habit of hers. Being prohibited from the mess hall again would suck, but she’d take it over _this_ any day. Maybe He’d be gentle with her, taking pity in her terror. Maybe she could convince Ilia to share her meal with her. Actually, now that she thought about it, there was no carpet in the barracks. The cot frames were steel, not wood. Where was she again? As these thoughts clicked into place, the tremors that had wracked her body slowed, her breathing with them. Hesitantly, she peeked past her knees. 

Almost immediately, she made eye contact with Yang. Her voice was quiet and shaky, “Blake? Hey, there you are. Listen, you’re safe. This is Patch, you’re in a guest room in my home. Honey, _nobody’s_ going to hurt you.” She was on her knees, a little bit out of arms reach from Blake. After she spoke, she took the opportunity to wipe her eyes. She never let her hands leave Blake’s sight and kept them resting on her knees if she wasn’t doing something with them. “You absolutely don’t have to answer, but I wanted to ask, how’re you feeling?”

 _That’s who it was. Good job, you fucking moron!_ Blake swallowed and spoke, unfurling herself slightly as she did, “I-I’m fine. I’m sorry, I overreacted an-nd you shouldn’t ha-“

Yang gently interrupted her, “No, please, you don’t have to apologize. You’ve done _nothing_ wrong. This is my fault; it was stupid of me to keep that window open. I didn’t mean to scare you, but I did, and I’m sorry for making you feel that way.” 

This had to be a ploy, a way to earn her trust just so Yang could twist the knife harder when the time came. There was _no way_ she was actually that forgiving. Thankfully, Blake had a way to find out for sure. She looked Yang dead in the eye. Yang stared right back at her, not even the slightest hint of deception on her face. She even had that same concerned tilt in her eyebrows Blake remembered from the crash and her eyes were slightly bloodshot. She knew for a fact that faking that was incredibly difficult to replicate. He’d tried. Either Yang was a better liar than He is, or, more likely, she was actually being honest. What a pleasant surprise. Blake shook her head and wiped her face, replying, “It’s fine. That… was a rifle, right?”

“Yup. I don’t know why, but my sister Ruby came home from the airfield madder than I’ve ever seen her before. She just marched in the door, grabbed mom’s old rifle and some ammo, and then stomped down to the creek. Dad and my uncle Qrow built a couple target stands down there for her 14th birthday, the same year they gifted her the rifle.” Yang broke eye contact, her face scrunching up as she pondered. “She hasn’t been down in a while, though.”

“Huh. I wonder wh- Ah!” The dull burning in her side had suddenly flared up. The adrenaline from her terror must have worn off.

“ _Aw grapes,_ I’m sorry! How bad is it?”

“I’ll live,” Blake groaned out. _Please make it stop._

Yang hesitated. When Blake glanced at her, she found that Yang had bit her lip and looked at the floor. She shook and raised her head, saying, “Look, I’m sorry but we’re going to need to take a look at it. Grapes, I hope nothing opened up again. Here, let’s get you back in that bed. Do you want help up?”

Between the burning and especially the weariness, Blake could barely keep herself sitting upright. Dejectedly, she replied, “You act as though I have a choice.”

“You do. I’m not going to lay a finger on you unless I have your explicit permission. If you don’t want someone touching you, we’ll lift you up with the stretcher in Jaune’s jeep. I don’t mind at all; I just want to help you,” Yang spoke with a gentle firmness.

Blake’s jaw hung loose, she was at such a loss for words. She had been given a choice in something as trivial and meaningless as to whether or not she got picked up. _What?!?_ Just to be certain, she met Yang’s gaze again. This time, she was even more certain that these words were genuine. Yang’s actions were certainly matching up, she hadn’t dared to approach any closer than she’d been, even when Blake had cried out. Now that she was looking, she noticed that Yang had no gun at her hip, nor had one concealed. She’d been sleeping in a room with an enemy of her country, _why wasn’t she armed?!?_ There was something different about her. Blake couldn’t help but felt safer in her company, despite having no real reason to trust this woman and every reason to suspect her. _What is wrong with me?!?_ Still…. A part of her incessantly whispered that letting Yang approach couldn’t hurt. She looked about as dangerous as a puppy and, for once, there was nothing in her mind disputing that. 

Surely, it couldn’t be too bad?

Blake hung her head, her shoulders drooping as she whispered, “Please help me up.” Yang did not move. Right, she’d said _explicit._ “…You, umm, have my permission to p-pick me up.” _I should not be even thinking of asking for this. He’s right, I’m so fucking needy._

“Thank you, Blake.” With that, the invisible barrier between them broke down and Yang cautiously scooted over to Blake’s side. Carefully, Yang threaded one of her arms beneath Blake’s knees and the other came around to support her shoulders. Blake couldn’t stop herself from cringing at the touch, pulling her arms to her chest and lowering her head.

Yang gently backed off and whispered, “Blake, we don’t have to do it this way. It’s not too late to back out, if you want to.”

Blake hurried to appease her, “I’m sorry, I’m fine. Go on.”

“I’m not upset; you’ve done nothing wrong,” Yang gently corrected. “Alright, we’re heading up on three, okay?”

“Right.”

Yang held her again, counted, and then gradually stood, supporting Blake’s weight in her arms. She was mindful to keep pressure off the bullet wound as she lifted her to the bed and gently set her in it. Blake couldn’t remember being handled with such care before, she felt no discomfort as they’d moved. Quite the opposite actually, infuriating as it was. She was going to have to sort herself out later. Once she’d deposited her, Yang bent and scooped up the blanket from the floor. 

“Do you want this back on?”

“Just set it aside.”

“Alrighty then.”

Yang messily folded the blanket and set it next to Blake, within arm’s reach. She then pulled the desk chair over and sat facing the bed, back outside of Blake’s personal space. She put her hands together in her lap and declared, “Alright, we should check your ribs again. How did you want to do this?”

“I think I’ll be fine if I just lie down.” _Please, you’ve wasted more than enough on me._

Yang made to respond but cut herself off and looked at the floor. She seemed to be considering what to say. Curiosity piqued, Blake hauled herself up and propped herself on her elbows. Her ears perked up as she waited. It was some time before Yang looked back up and asked, “Blake, do you want to know what happened to you?”

Blake nodded.

Yang nodded back, “Alright. My friend Jaune is a civil medic, and while I don’t really know much about medicine, he does. According to him, before we finished working on your wounds, you lost four pints. You had entered shock and we had to restart your heart _twice._ He doesn’t know how you stayed awake long enough to land that plane, and if the bullet had been less than an inch to the right, you wouldn’t have. You’d be dead.” Yang took a moment to wipe her forehead and swallow nervously. She brought her head back up again and continued, “So please, after what just happened, I’d really like to make sure you’re going to be okay. You can even check it yourself if you want, just… please.”

 _Oh._ Blake was no stranger to close calls, but this definitely took the cake. To think she’d been closer than back in Shion… 

“O-Oh. Um, okay. Yeah, let’s check on it. I… can look myself?”

“Of course.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the evening passed by with little fuss. Yang stepped out of the room and Blake checked on herself in the meantime. She’d been lucky, nothing appeared to have torn. Yang returned with dinner (as it turned out, she hadn’t been kidding about the cornbread) and after she’d finished eating, Blake met Jaune. As soon as she’d seen him, it clicked. She’d punched this guy, and in return he’d saved her life. Surprisingly, he had simply brushed it off, saying, “Don’t worry about it.” He seemed alright, despite the uniform. She’d make it up to him, to all of them. She owed them, especially Yang. All that said, if Yang hadn’t been there, she’d have flat out refused the painkillers he’d offered. They were kind, but she still didn’t know what their endgame was. Why had they brought her back from the brink? Why did they care whether she lived or died? 

It was as these thoughts swirled in her head that a knock on the door pierced through the turmoil. A man’s voice asked, “May I come in?”

“Yeah.” Blake didn’t recognize this voice and didn’t really want to let this mystery man in. All the same, she couldn’t refuse them entry. This was not her home.

A middle aged man with sandy blond hair walked in. He walked to her, stuck out his hand, and said, “Hi there, my name is Tai, Yang and Ruby’s dad. It’s nice to meet you. You’re Blake, right?”

She shook his calloused hand and replied, “Yes, that’s me. It’s nice to meet you too. Thank you for letting me stay here for the night.”

Tai took a seat in the desk chair and leaned forward. “You’re welcome, but that’s actually what I’ve come to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” _Figures._

“Yup. I’m going to be blunt, if word gets out that a White Fang pilot is being sheltered here, we’ll all be marched out of here in handcuffs. My family is everything, and I’m going to protect them. But all the same, I’m open to letting you stay and heal here. Mostly because Yang kept vouching for you and I trust her judgement.” 

Her ears pinned on head as she broke eye contact. Good grief, at this rate Blake would never be able to repay her. Her ears perked up again as Tai continued, “But before I do that I need you to answer one question.”

She looked back up at him.

“What’s the deal with that folder?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one done. Thank you for swinging by, I appreciate it. To be honest, I feel kinda iffy about this one. I needed to set a lot of stuff up, which I think I did well enough in, but I really burned time trying to get Blake and Yang's first actual encounter feeling right. I'm still not entirely satisfied with it, but it works. Biggest problem I had was without a doubt impostor syndrome. Ugh. I'm considering doing some short dialogue prompts to sharpen up on writing conversations. If I do, I'll post them here. Please, let me know if you're interested.
> 
> All that said, I hope you liked today's chapter. I'm curious to know what you think of it. I'm going to take a day or two before I set in on chapter three, but it will be here.
> 
> Until then,
> 
> Take care.


	3. Day One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there,
> 
> Well, it has been way too long. I'm really sorry about that, but at least it's finally update day. It's also nearly twice the length of the previous chapter, which is in no way a trend I'm shooting for. I had several perspectives to shift between this time around, which really added on to the wordcount and the time to write. 
> 
> A new character has joined the tags, as well as a tag for War (Which should have been there from the get-go) and another for Faunus Racism, but the big change here is the rating. I've decided to go ahead and ramp it up to mature. I've been concerned about that for awhile now and figured this rating would give me more breathing room, especially for future scenes I am very excited to write.
> 
> All that said, I hope you enjoy.

Early morning sunlight filtered in through the lone window. It couldn’t have been seven yet, but that fact didn’t stop a pair of golden eyes from snapping open. Shit, she’d overslept! She needed to get up before He found out, there was no telling what He’d do! Blake made to rise but winced and fell back to the bed. It was as she rode out the aching in her side that she realized that was not the barrack’s ceiling. Right, He was over an ocean. Somehow. Blake still couldn’t believe that she’d pulled it off, let alone that she had lived to tell the tale. By all accounts, her life should have ended two days ago, but it hadn’t. The Xiao Long family, with no hesitation, had pulled her back from the abyss. They were undoubtedly the most surprising part of this mess Blake now found herself in. She just couldn’t wrap it around her head that these people were real, even as the last part of her conversation with Yang’s father echoed in her mind.

_“You… You’re serious?”_

_“I wish I wasn’t. I’m not going to pretend like I know all of the science behind it, but I have no doubt it can do what they’re wanting it to. They wouldn’t have let it develop this far otherwise.”_

_“Dear creation…” Tai buried his face in his hands and rubbed his eyes. A moment later, he straightened up and dropped his hands. “That’s why you flew over the ocean. If word gets out, Vacuo will dissolve their ties in a heartbeat. Between them and Mistral, the White Fang won’t stand a chance, and they’ll never be able to use these things.” He wasn’t incorrect, so Blake nodded. He continued, “But that all begs the question: what’s in it for you? Why are you putting your life on the line?”_

_Blake sat up straight and looked Tai dead in the eye. “Remnant has burned too bright for too long. I’m personally guilty of adding to the fire, but I’ve been given an opportunity. If it’s allowed to progress, The Reckoning will slaughter thousands, maybe millions, but it all hinges on the element of surprise. Rip that away, and the whole plan falls to pieces. I refuse to stand idle while innocents burn. I have the chance to do something and I will find a way to stop this madness, I have to! Whatever it takes, I have to…” She quietly trailed off, looking down at her clenched hands. The knuckles were all white, she was gripping the cover so tightly._

_Tai gave a sharp nod and stated, “No, you’ve done enough.” Blake’s head shot up, eyes wide, and she made to cut in but Tai beat her to the punch. “More than enough, actually. Look, I’ll take over from here. I’ve got some contacts at the local base that I’ll be able to ring up, they’ll pass this on to Vale. You’ve already done the hard part, so please let me deal with the easy part. You’ve been through enough already, I can tell. In the meantime, you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you want.”_

_Blake narrowed her eyes. “You don’t even know me. You’re willing to just trust me and take that risk?”_

_“I am. For one, what you say is in that folder matches what Yang told me. She didn’t get an in-depth look at it, but she told me it was filled with technical diagrams and blueprints just like you said. Even if you hadn’t, I’m pushing forty-five and I’ve fathered two daughters that both regularly make use of the phrase ‘I’m fine, Dad.’ I know a liar when I see one, and you couldn’t be further from it. So yes, I’m alright with you staying here.”_

_"Bu-“_

_Tai stood up and cut her off, “No buts, my mind is made. Uh, not that you have to stay, that’s your choice. Look, Blake, there are very few people in this world who would risk their lives for the citizens of another kingdom. You’re a member of a dying breed this world desperately needs and I am not about to turn my back on that. Now please, relax.” He turned to the door, but stopped when Blake questioned him._

_"A dying breed? What would that be?”_

_He hung his head, but didn’t turn around. When he did say something, it was in a small voice brimming in quiet sorrow. “Those who fight not just to kill, but so that we may one day live in peace. Wardoves. Goodnight, Blake.”_

The only times she’d ever heard the term, it had been used as a weapon. Blake had lost count of the number of times she’d been labelled one over the years. Heck, “Private Dove” had been her nickname even after she’d been promoted to corporal. It wasn’t until she became an ace that people started to begrudgingly acknowledged her rank. People like her were always who got grilled the hardest by the drill sergeants, the officers, and even their fellow grunt. She knew a guy like her back in basic that didn’t make it. Nobody wanted to bury him. “He was a filthy dove, the only thing he deserves is the ditch,” they’d said. She disagreed and Ilia helped her give him a proper burial. The people who were supposed to be her comrades doubled down on them afterward. She’d become so desensitized to the onslaught, that being called one in a respectful tone had utterly blindsided her. Never in her life had that happened. She still didn’t know what to make of it. There was the time a drill sergeant had tried being nice to soften her up for the gut punch he’d delivered. Maybe that was the angle Tai was going for. Blake dismissed the thought as soon as it had arrived. Tai’s eyes may have been like Jaune’s (and His) in that they were barely expressive. They defaulted to the same blank stare that they rarely deviated from, but there were still little tells she could discern. Maybe it wasn’t like Yang’s, where Blake felt like she was reading a comic book, but it was enough to know they were both honest. Her gut was telling her they were relatively safe. It hadn’t let her down in some time, so she decided to trust in it. Even if she didn’t really want to.

That same gut chose this moment to growl at her. Lovely. She couldn’t hear anybody moving around in the house, so it’d probably be awhile before she could get something down. Technically, there was the option of getting up to see if there was anything she could quickly snag, but it was not one Blake wished to pursue. Her heart beat too hard with the anxiety of waiting for the shoe to drop. Welcome or not, she didn’t want to do anything that would make her hosts retract their benevolence. Maybe they were friendly and seemed honest, but she’d been duped before. Countless times. Who knew how they would respond to a thief? Any risk was too great, at least until she healed up some more. So, Blake continued to lay on the (criminally cozy) bed, just staring at the ceiling above her. It wasn’t long before her lids began to droop. She hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, maybe it couldn’t hurt to let herself drift off again. With a frustrated growl, she shook her head. In times past, she’d performed off of far less sleep than what she’d gotten. Blake Belladonna was many deplorable things, but she was no sloth. Today was not going to be the beginning of becoming one. She’d find something to do, surely there was something that needed cleaning. Her debt wasn’t going to pay itself, after all.

Shaking and panting, Blake hauled herself up and sat on the edge of the bed, catching her breath before attempting to stand. Mother, chest wounds _sucked._ Blake didn’t think herself strong, but these things always made her feel like a toothpick would be too much. She hated it. Regardless, she willed herself to stand. It took her three attempts, and she nearly cried out the second time, but she was finally standing again. Her wounded leg ached badly, but it was at least supporting her weight. She’d have to be careful with it. Catching her breath again, Blake grit her teeth and took the first step. She couldn’t put her full weight on her bad leg, and it still hurt badly when the muscle beneath the gauze tensed, but she was at least moving on her own. Glancing around, she berated herself and slowly made her way to desk. Laying on its surface were her ID tags. Not wearing them felt incredibly wrong and it had taken her until just now to realize where they were. The stamped steel listed her name, enlistment number, and the big one, her blood type. Chances are, she wouldn’t be alive right now without them. Putting on the necklace they hung from hurt way more than it had any right to, but she got them on and then tucked the tags under her shirt’s collar. Ah, much better. She hobbled to the door and quietly opened it. A tiny hall opened on her right to the home’s front room.

It wasn’t all that big, just enough to comfortably fit a sofa, love seat, a side table with a phone, a coffee table, a tall lamp tucked in a corner, and a radio cabinet. That must have been what she heard yesterday, a house wouldn’t have a wireless set in it. At least, that’s what she thought. Who knows, it had been so long since she’d even been in a house. Blake suppressed the memories that dared to well to the forefront of her mind and kept looking around. The sofa was pushed against the far wall, which had a shallow bay window taking up most of its surface. Through it, she could see that this house was perched atop a hill. Another hill, bald of trees like this one, sat about three miles out with a house similar to this one at its crest. A thin forest populated the valley between them, apart from a large clearing that the airfield she must have crashed at lay within. She couldn’t see much to her left, but to her right there were more gently rolling hills as far she could see. This one and its neighbor seemed to be the outliers, as the other hills were low and shallow enough for farmers to grow their crops upon them. There were a couple old barns and farmhouses and their driveways connected to some meandering dirt roads. 

It was a pretty sight, especially with the early morning sunshine, but Blake turned and limped deeper into the dwelling. She had to prop herself by putting a hand on the wall to her right and in doing so had to avoid nudging the pictures hanging there. Most of them depicted people she recognized. Yang was in several of them, almost always with a younger girl with short, dark hair. That must be her sister, Ruby. She must have attended college at some point, as there was a picture of a positively beaming Ruby wearing a Signal Academy uniform. There were more, like this one of a picnic with Ruby, Yang, and Jaune. It took Blake awhile to recognize him, he looked different with longer hair. Oh… she knew that look. She had her suspicions, but this confirmed them. Looking around, Yang turned out to be a good way to figure out how old the pictures were. She had grown to be tall and broad, so the smaller she was, the older the picture. There was one that had been taken a long time ago that made Blake pause. It was a family photo. Tai was there, sitting cross-legged on the lawn with an even younger Ruby in his lap, his arms loosely wrapped around her. She couldn’t have been older than six. Yang sat in the lap of the other adult in the picture, a woman Blake did not recognize. She and Ruby looked almost entirely alike, even down to the same peculiar silver eyes. She appeared to be the same age as Tai, and they both wore a simple wedding ring. She was dressed in a Valesh infantry dress uniform (apart from the hat, which Yang was wearing) and had a pair of medals pinned to the breast of her jacket. One of them was a small, circular badge depicting a hand being offered from above to another from below. The other was much larger, a dark Valesh crest hanging on a light colored ribbon. Everybody in the picture was smiling, especially the kids. The adults’ were different however, both baring subtle remnants of a thousand-yard stare. The woman was easy enough to figure out, but why did Tai have one? Now that she thought about it, why did he still have one? Where is this woman?

Blake tore her eyes from the photo and shook her head. Just gawking at it wouldn’t solve anything and the whereabouts of Ruby and Yang’s mother wasn’t her business to begin with. She continued ahead, eventually limping past a stair case and into a dining room. While wiping some sweat off of her forehead, she scanned the room. Attached to one end was the home’s kitchen, but beyond that there was just a sturdy table and some chairs gathered around it, a simple lighting fixture hanging overhead. These rooms gave off the same cozy feeling the rest of the house had given thus far. She had no idea how they were doing that, but she felt more welcome in this building than any other she’d been in during the past eight years. It was strange being in a structure that couldn’t be effectively used as a defensive position. The backdoor attached to the kitchen and the front door she’d seen were the only two exits for crying out loud! 

Regardless, Blake’s gaze settled on the sink. Yesterday’s soup (the first thing she had eaten in a couple days) had produced some dirty dishes, which still sat in there. Approaching it, she found a clean rag and some soap. Yeah, she could work with this.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

About an hour later, Yang nodded at the mirror and exited the upstairs water closet. She strolled down the hall and stopped at the doors halfway down. Of course, Jaune was already out of the guest room. They’d lucked out to catch him at the start of his weekend, but he’d have to head back to work and his own dwelling later today. On the other side, she could hear light snoring coming from behind Ruby’s door. Thank goodness for that, she’d been down by the creek until the sun had almost entirely set. When she’d finally trudged back up the hill, Ruby seemed to have been her usual self. Yang knew she wasn’t, but Ruby hadn’t opened up about it. She never did when the rifle came out. Instead she’d eaten dinner, cleaned mom’s rifle, and retired to her room for the evening. Yang could only hope she’d gotten some good sleep. For now, she proceeded to the stairs and began plodding her way down the steps. Halfway down, she cringed as she realized yesterday was Ruby’s turn with the dishes. Dad always got into an annoyed fuss when they forgot to deal with them, so Yang resolved to take the heat and do it herself. She hit the floor and rounded the corner. Surprisingly, both Jaune and Dad were in the dining room.

Tai nodded. “Morning sunshine, sleep well?”

“Yeah, I did. You seem to be off to a late start,” she added with a cheeky grin.

He shrugged, “Eh, didn’t get that great of a night’s rest. It’s alright, it’s still the weekend. I’m pretty sure Bert will be swinging by today, but he never does that until at least one o’clock.” Yang rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I know. He’s an ass, but he’s also a paying ass. Even if he keeps trying to shortchange us. Oh, by the way, I was just talking to Jaune here about Blake. I spoke with her last night and I’ve decided that it’s safe to let her stay here for now.”

“Yeah? That’s good.”

“It is, but we’re going to have do like you suggested. If her eyes are reflective like Velvet’s, we’ll have to make sure she’s back here before sunset. We can’t let anyone aside from us see her ears and we should keep her out of sight from our clients regardless. Especially Bert. If anybody does ask, she’s a laborer from Vale that was looking for work and housing. As long as we don’t give anyone a reason to report to the Defense Board, we’ll all be fine. As for the folder, we should be honest and say what actually happened. However, we tell them that the pilot bled out and died. If they don’t believe us, we can show them the wreck. There’s enough dried blood in that cockpit to convince anyone, especially if it’s me doing the convincing.”

Jaune piped in, asking, “What about me?”

Yang answered, “We say you were there, but were unable to save their life. It would also explain why you have missing supplies. Dad, I take it you’re going to want to hand those plans off to the military, right?”

“Dear Brothers, yes. I’m just glad I know the commander over there...”

 _Oh?_ Yang had been stunned to find military intelligence in her hands that day. They were blueprints mostly, but she hadn’t had time to figure them out. With what she had glanced over, she figured it had to be some new kind of dust bomb. It was the only thing she could think of that would call for that much dust in such a small vessel and it looked like it had an ordinance mount on its casing. Still, this was the most anxious she’d seen Dad in some time now. Millions of D-bombs had been dropped over the course of the Great War, why would this one be making him feel that way? “That bad?”

“You have no Idea. I’m going to make some phone calls and head up to the base later today. Look, I want to get that thing out of here as soon as I can, so if you want to know more, ask Blake.”

Yang nodded, “Okay. Jaune, they’ll likely interview you once Dad talks to them, which means they’ll also be interested in talking to me. I’m not enlisted like you, but I’m still a contractor for the Board. Between the three of us and the wreck, we’ll be able to keep what actually happened under wraps.”

Tai set his mug back down, now looking like his usual self, and remarked, “We will, I’m just bummed we dragged you into this, Jaune.” 

“It’s fine. Technically speaking, I should have reported the Scarlatinas, but that didn’t happen. Keeping this a secret is no different than keeping them secret.”

Yang’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re serious?”

“Yup. According to my CO, all ‘animals,’” he stated with some air quotes, “are to be reported for investigation. Tch, investigation my ass, they just send the MP’s to kick their doors in and drag them off to who knows where.”

“No way. First the Double Aught, now this? How long has this been going on?”

“About a month ago is when I got the order. Don’t tell anyone about it though, I’m not supposed to tell people who don’t ‘need to know.’ I could get in some serious trouble if word got out. And no, I have not reported anyone, I refuse to.” 

Yang brought her hands up in a placating gesture, quickly responding, “No, I didn’t think you would have done that, this is the first I’ve heard of it is all. Just… damn.” Yang looked aside and scowled at the floor, clenching her fists. She could feel a familiar boil starting up in her heart. Yang could not say that she truly understood their lives and hardships, but befriending Velvet had taught her that the faunus had been dealt an awful hand in a rigged game. On top of that, the war had seen some particularly unsavory groups cropping up in towns outside of Vale like fireflies on a summer night. People she used to call friends supported them. The faunus needed protection and assistance now more than ever, but they’d just been abandoned and scorned by the same government that was supposed to aid and protect them. They were people just as worthy as any human, what could they have possibly done to deserve this?

She was interrupted from her thoughts as Ruby, still in her PJ’s, came barreling down the stairs and around the corner. As soon she saw them, she blurted out, “Ah! I’m sorry I forgot to do the dishes yesterday, I’ll take care of… it?” 

Yang took a step towards her, concern in her voice. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Did somebody do the dishes?”

 _What?_ Yang looked at the sink and was surprised to find it empty. Yesterday’s pot and bowls sat in the drying rack, clean as a whistle. _When had that happened?_

Tai sat up and quirked his brow. “Wait, that wasn’t you?”

“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t. I mean, did I?”

Yang shook her head. “Unless you did it while I was asleep, no. I remember hearing you go into your room, but you didn’t come out.”

“Yeah, I stayed there all night. Did you?”

“No, I was just thinking that I would while I was coming down the stairs. Jaune? Dad?”

Jaune put his hands up. “Wasn’t me.”

“Same here.”

A beat of silence stretched on. It was broken when Ruby asked, “I mean, are we sure it wasn’t Zwei?”

Tai chuckled and shook his head. “Even if he could, I’ve got to pick him up from the vet today. No, I think I know who our culprit is. Blake was in the living room when I opened my door this morning, said she was looking for the bathroom.”

“Son of a gun!” Jaune cursed and rose from his chair.

“What’s wrong?”

“Yang, I put stiches in her leg, she should not be up and walking unsupported. I’m going to go get some things from the jeep, can you check on her?”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve got it.” Jaune nodded his thanks and jogged out the front door. Yang hurried to the guest room door and softly rapped her knuckles against the wood a couple times. “Hey, it’s Yang. May I come in?”

“Yeah.”

Yang opened the door and peeked in. Blake was sitting against the headboard, regarding her with the guarded expression Yang had realized she defaulted to. Yang entered the room, making sure to keep her movements relaxed and predictable. The last thing she wanted was a repeat of yesterday. The brief conversation they’d had confirmed what Yang already suspected: Blake didn’t trust them. It would explain most of her behavior and Yang could understand why that was so, but there was one glaring issue with chalking it to just that. It didn’t explain what happened right after Yang had startled awake. Blake had reacted as though Yang was going to seriously hurt her. She didn’t even really look at her, it was like an automaton reacting according to its programming. Yang’s heart had outright shattered at the sight and it had taken all the restraint she had to stop herself from enveloping Blake in a protective hug. The way Blake instinctively recoiled from her touch, the way she curled into herself when somebody drew near, and the way her breathing subtly sped up when heavy boots plodded in another room all told Yang she almost certainly made a good choice in trusting her gut. It hadn’t even been a day, but Yang could see the writing on the wall. She’d seen it before, in the eyes of supposedly happy wives in her own town. Somebody near to Blake had hurt her. She didn’t know this woman, she could be a wolf in sheep’s clothing for all she knew. But this was _real_ and ignorance as to Blake’s intentions was no excuse in Yang’s book.

Nobody deserved that.

So, she was going to try and make things comfortable for Blake. It was the bare minimum she could really do. Yang smiled as she walked in and took a seat in the chair, setting her hands on her knees. “Hey, good morning. How’re you today?”

“I’m fine. Yourself?”

“I’m doing well. I’m sorry to spring this on you right off the bat, but uh, did you do the dishes this morning?”

Blake’s eyes widened and then squeezed shut as she lowered her head, her words cascading from her lips, “I’m sorry, I should have stayed here, I-“

 _Please, I’m not going to hurt you!_ “No no, you didn’t do anything wrong! It’s actually pretty cool of you to consider doing them, I really appreciate it,” one of Blake’s ears perked up and swiveled to face her. “The reason I brought it up was because I wanted to thank you and to make sure you know that we don’t expect you to do anything for us that you don’t want to. Especially if it could lead to you getting hurt again.”

Blake hesitated, a dumbfounded expression having cracked through the mask. Yang only knew because of the way Blake’s eyes widened slightly. She reigned herself back in and raised her head, levelling Yang with an unblinking stare. She’d made that same look several times yesterday and, like all those before this one, Yang felt as though Blake could see right through her. The only thing she could really do was stare back, as her mouth had forgotten how to form words. Her train of thought screeched to a halt, especially as the morning sun turned an already beautiful amber to a mesmerizing gold. Yang had never been on the receiving end of anything like this, she’d have held contact even if she actually had something to hide. The fact that Blake was flat out gorgeous didn’t help the panicked flailing Yang’s mind had decided was the best course of action. Like the previous times, Blake blinked and looked away. Yang’s thought process abruptly restarted as they broke eye contact. 

Thankfully, Blake hadn’t noticed her momentary distress. She looked back at her. “What should I do?”

“Whatever you want. If that’s working, then we’ll find you something you can safely do until you’re feeling better. Look, I hate telling you what you can and can’t do, but it’s for a reason. I don’t want your injuries to get worse. Of course, you can tell me to screw off if you want. Like, if I’m being too much, please tell me. But please understand that you don’t owe us anything and even if you did, I would not ask you to harm yourself on my behalf.”

This time the mask didn’t break, it was straight up discarded. Confusion manifested itself plain as day in Blake’s expression. In a quiet, disbelieving voice she asked, “…How can you say that?”

“I just did.” _Why’s that so hard to believe?_

Blake rolled her eyes. Her voice was quiet as she spoke, “You know what I mean. People don’t just help strangers unless it’s to gain something. You saved my life, that of a total stranger from _across the ocean,_ which means I owe you. There’s no way I couldn’t.” To Yang, it sounded like Blake was seriously trying to convince herself.

“There is, actually. I can only speak for myself, but I do what I do because I want to. I don’t help people for my own personal gain, that’s just wrong. I don’t… actually, no. There is something I want from you.” 

While Blake’s face remained still, her shoulders sagged. 

“Heal.”

“What?” 

“Let your wounds heal. You still don’t actually owe me anything, and that is not at all an order or something like that, but I would be pretty happy if you did that.”

Blake looked at her like she’d grown another head. Her lips attempted to form words several times before she found her voice again. “Why… why are you doing these things for me? Why do you care?”

Yang opened her mouth to answer but cut herself off when Blake’s ears suddenly swiveled towards the door. She swallowed and watched it nervously, her shoulders rising and falling a little faster. At first Yang was just confused, why was Blake getting scared? Then she heard a pair of boots clomping closer to them. Oh, right. She leaned back in her chair and called out, “Jaune, is that you?”

“Yeah, I got th-“

“Hey, sorry to cut you off, but can you hold up a second?”

“Sure, something wrong?”

“No, just hang on,” Yang didn’t hear his response, instead having switched her attention back to Blake. Yang leaned forward and made sure to keep her voice down as she caught her attention. “Hey.” Yang’s heart cracked a bit more as they made eye contact. Though she was obviously trying to hide it, Yang could see pretty clearly how anxious Blake had become. It was always the eyes. She spoke softly, “It’s Jaune, my friend from yesterday. You know, tall blond guy?” Blake hesitantly nodded. “I didn’t know about this earlier, but there’s stiches in your leg. Considering how recently they went in, we’re worried they may have opened up again. He wanted to check on them, but you don’t have to let him in, you can absolutely check it yourself if you want. I can even step out, it’s entirely up to you. So, what do you want to do?”

Blake glanced around, seemingly turning things over in her head. It was some time before she took a deep breath and looked at Yang again. “He can come in, but I’d like to check it myself, i-if I may?”

Yang nodded her head. “Of course. Do you want to take a look before he does?”

“…Yeah. You um, you can stay. But, uh, can you uh… look away…please?” she quietly trailed off, her head dipping down.

 _Sweety, I’m not going to hurt you._ “Yeah, I’ll look away. If you want anything, just say.” Yang stood up and sat in her chair backwards, now looking at the wall. After a moment, she could hear a shaky sigh followed by fabric rustling behind her. She could also hear what she was almost certain was a suppressed groan. Yang gripped her chair a little tighter. Every instinct she had was screaming at her to get up and help, but she tamped them down and held still. She hadn’t been given permission, she had to honor that.

After a while, Blake’s shaky voice greeted her ears, “Okay, you can turn around.” Yang obliged. Blake looked okay, but that was definitely sweat she’d just wiped off her forehead. “It looked fine, nothing loose, bleeding, or infected.”

Yang smiled and replied, “That’s great to hear.”

Blake had been about to say something, but was interrupted by a voice from around the corner. “Hey, can I come in now?”

Yang quirked her eyebrow at Blake. When she nodded, Yang called out, “Yeah, go ahead.”

Jaune’s head poked out from the around the door frame. When Yang nodded, he nodded back, walked into the room, and set the pair of crutches he carried against the wall. He stood next to where Yang sat and greeted, “Morning, Blake. How’re you feeling?”

“I’m fine.”

“Alrighty then. Well, I brought those crutches and also this here,” He pulled a small bottle from his pants’ pocket. “They’re painkillers, just like the one from yesterday. I’ve got to get going today, so I wanted to leave you some. There’s instructions here on the bottle, just follow them and you’ll be alright.” He set the bottle on the desk. “As for moving on, just use those crutches when you walk and avoid any strenuous activity and you’ll be fine. I told Yang and her dad this, but the bandages will both need to be replaced at least twice a week, more if there’s bleeding. Actually, I’m pretty sure the ones around your chest need to be replaced this evening. You should be alright doing it yourself if you want, but please, ask for help if you need it. Don’t stress yourself, alright?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I mean it. Now, do you have any questions?”

“Yes, may I ask how long will my chest take to heal?”

Jaune cupped his chin with his hand and thought a moment. “Considering your case, I imagine it’ll be mostly healed in two to three weeks. You may still have some pain, but it should be very minor by that point. You also may have some lasting effects after this, depending on how things heal in there. Nothing critical though, it’ll just be wearing out a little faster when you exercise.”

Some of the tension in Blake’s shoulders relaxed. “Okay. Thank you, for everything.”

He nodded, “Anytime. Well, I’ve got to get going now, I hope you both have a good day. Yang, if you guys have any problems, you know my number.”

“I gotcha. Be careful out there, bud.” Jaune smiled and nodded before heading out the door. It wasn’t long before an engine started up outside and faded out. Yang turned her attention back to Blake, who’s shoulders had slumped. “Hey, you okay?”

Blake glanced at her and then quickly looked to the covers as she answered. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She raised her gaze and asked, “What needs done?”

“I appreciate the eagerness, but to be honest with you, I don’t know.” _Please just rest._ “Dad’s heading out today and Ruby and I are both working the airport. There’s always stuff to do down there, but I can’t say the same about the house. Here, while I’m down there, I’ll see what I can find for you. In the meantime, feel free to relax here. You’re more than welcome to sit in the living and dining rooms, and the radio’s all yours. Ruby and I eat our lunch here, but if you get hungry before then, there’s a couple pieces of cornbread left over, as well as some soup. Oh! I just had an idea, I’ll be right back.”

Yang got up and left the room, leaving a curious Blake behind. When she entered the living room, she kicked off her work boots and left them by the front door. She then took the stairs two at a time, meeting Ruby at the landing. Yang promised she’d get going in just a second and headed down the hall to her door at the end. Opening it, she walked into her room and stood in front of the bookshelf to her left, browsing the dusty tomes there. She really didn’t know what Blake liked, let alone if she even liked reading, but it had to beat sitting around all day. Yang grabbed a few books, making sure their genres were different from each other. Surely, one of these would be a hit. She sent a quick glance to the alarm clock on her side table. There really wasn’t much more time before she’d need to get going. Yang then walked to the door, making sure to slap the aircraft propeller hanging over its frame. The aluminum, as always, made an incredibly satisfying thwock. Old habits and all that. She took the stairs and walked back to the guest room. It was nice to see Blake mostly relaxed when she returned. As soon as she realized what Yang was carrying, her gaze locked onto the books. She sat up, one of her ears flicking lightly in a way that was honestly adorable. _So maybe I was on to something._ Yang took a seat and held the books out, saying, “I thought you’d get bored today, so I went and got some of my old novels for you.”

Blake’s jaw went slack as her wide eyes darted from the books to her and back again, several times at that. They locked onto her own and Yang’s train of thought, for once, kept chugging. This wasn’t one of those searching stares like before. No, this was just pure disbelief. The fact that it regularly cropped up when Yang did something even somewhat kind was not a comforting one. Blake quietly asked, “You’re letting me borrow them?”

“Yeah, and there’s more upstairs. I didn’t know what you liked, so I just grabbed a bunch of stuff. If you don’t like these, I-“

“No! No, this is great, thank you!” She accepted the books, their fingers brushing against each other. Yang looked aside and cleared her throat as Blake quickly read the spines and then the summary of one of the books. Yang looked back up and watched as something amazing happened. It was gradual, but Blake no longer carried herself with the constant wariness she’d always seen from her. No, this was more like what happened when Yang got a new copy of _Aeronautica_ for Ruby. Just like her, Blake had lit up like a neon sign, practically overflowing with eagerness towards what she held in her hands, even if it was more subdued. Her broken little smile may not have been as obvious, but it was there nonetheless. No, what really lit up were her eyes. Gone was the guarded and blank gaze, now it looked more like that of a kid who had been told they could have whatever candy they wanted from the store. She looked more alive than ever and you know what? Yang liked it. Blake put the books down on her lap, wiped something from her eyes, and looked at her again. “I-I don’t know what to say, _thank you.”_

Yang smiled and relaxed her posture. Admittedly, she had been pretty concerned this whole thing would be a flop. “You’re welcome, Blake. I hope you like those books, and whenever you want some new ones, just ask. I wish I could stay, but I’ve got to get down the hill. Those planes won’t fix themselves, after all.” Yang stood up and continued, “I’ll see you later.”

“Oh, alright. See you.”

Yang smiled and walked to the door, stopping when she heard a quiet “Hey.” She turned around a quirked a brow. 

“Have a good day, Yang.”

“Thanks, you too.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Four hours. That’s how long it took to get back from the coast. It’d only been a little less than half that to do it by air. Adam Taurus now had double the time to sit in his seat and boil, glaring at the plains of northern Vacuo as they passed by. As the time crawled, his scowl had continued to darken to depths previously unknown to faunus kind. He still couldn’t believe it. He’d lost a duel against that pathetic whelp and, even more enraging, _she let him live. Blush_ was faster, climbed quicker and higher, and carried two autocannons on top of its six machineguns. Sure, his duties as the aerial commander of Aerodrome Prime had prevented him from flying nearly as often as he once had, but there was no way he’d have squandered the mechanical advantage against a pilot with only _one_ confirmed kill. He had one hundred thirty two!

But nonetheless, their fight had ended when his right engine had been rendered to a flaming mass of shredded aluminum. Without speed, the advantage swung fully in her favor. He was screwed, they both knew that, and yet _Shroud_ had still disengaged and turned to the sea. The impossible had happened. Adam lived for the tell-tale twitch in an enemy’s control surfaces, when their hands flinched at the pain of a bullet tearing through their fragile body. He’d gotten it _twice_ and still she hadn’t died! That whelp had gotten lucky, and now his plane was toast. Barely maintaining his already low altitude, he’d been forced to find a place to land. He had been lucky to have done so near a fishing town within the White Fang’s territory. They’d radioed the local outpost and in turn they sent a jeep out to retrieve and return him to the aerodrome. They’d also sent a semi with a flat-bed trailer, which now bounced on the bumpy road in the jeep’s rear view mirror. The beach’s uneven sand had damaged _Blush’s_ landing gear, but it and the combat damage could all be repaired. He’d get his kill. He always did.

For now, they had driven for hours to crest this hill just outside of the airbase. It sprawled out before them, lit by the midday sunshine. He’d likely be able to slip back in without fuss. Good. The private driving talked with the gate guard briefly and they were waved in. It wasn’t long before they’d parked in front of the barracks complex. Adam paid the private’s words no mind as he disembarked, finally getting the opportunity to stretch his legs. They carried him to his quarters automatically, so lost was he within the mist of rage. Before he’d realized it, he now stood within the quarters he had let her share with him. 

Right away, his anger burned brighter still. In the far left corner stood a narrow book case situated next to a rusting foldable chair. The handful of worn books were enraging enough, but what really stoked the flames was what was missing from this corner. The small, hooked metal arm attached to the top of the case supported a stupid wind chime she had begged him to let her keep. He’d felt charitable, so he said she could keep her contraband… if she made the airborne company’s CQC instructor tap out in a fist fight. That would teach her to hide things from him. Three minutes into the bout, she barely escaped a vicious chokehold. Six minutes in, a wet snap had rung out as her nose shattered under the might of the brass knuckles Adam had slipped the instructor. Infuriatingly enough, at eight minutes in, she kicked him in the jaw and blitzed the stunned man to turn the tables. At ten minutes, she dislocated his shoulder and had nearly done the same to the other one when that useless fool had tapped out. Even if this wasn’t what he was looking for, Adam had been so pleased with the sheer brutality of her display that he’d decided to honor his “promise.” It was another three days before the infirmary finally relinquished their hold of her. That all had been two years ago, and the chime had hung here in this corner ever since. It was gone now. If he needed more evidence that she’d planned this, here it was. He knew _Shroud_ should not have been taking off when he’d seen it earlier that morning. She’d had to have an order form in order to get the fuel, which means she had to have made a forgery of one. That takes time and planning to pull off. Evidently, she’d been thorough to the point of taking the chime with her. To think she’d been plotting this all under his nose…

Rather than annihilating the affront before him, he changed out of his flight gear and prepared for the day ahead. Not even an hour later, a freshly cleaned and uniformed Aerial Commander Taurus left the complex doors, his single eye squinting against the sunshine. He strode to the base’s Operations Center, his fists clenching and relaxing sporadically as he walked. A patrol guard heading to the complex stopped and saluted, not that Adam noticed. It wasn’t even because of the blind spot from his eyepatch. No, he had several people to speak with, search parties to organize, and tracks to cover. Anybody in his way would have to stand aside. It wasn’t long before the great flag adorned concrete slabs of the Ops Center towered above him. This building served as the White Fang’s military nerve center, and it was here that Adam orchestrated the combined might of all aircraft baring the crimson wolf’s head. The interior lobby was a little more crowded than usual and it took him longer than he’d care to admit to realize why that was so. Great, just what he needed.

As soon as they made eye contact, a woman in diplomat’s robes strode through the ring of officers she’d garnered and approached him. Her assistant followed just off her shoulder. Adam removed his hat and held it at his side as he saluted the woman. She nodded and Adam returned his hat to his head and coldly greeted her.

“High leader.”

“Commander Taurus.”

“May I ask, how have the Vale talks been proceeding?”

Sienna Kahn narrowed her eyes and replied, “What were you doing this morning?”

Right to point, what else was he expecting? “I regret to inform you, but we have had a deserter. Sergeant Belladonna of the First Wing has betrayed the cause.” Sienna’s ears were starting to gradually lower. _Shit._ “I pursued the traitor and, while I was unsuccessful in outright stopping her, I inflicted enough damage to prevent her from crossing the Sea of Souls. It’s simply a matter of finding the wreckage now.”

With a frustrated sigh, Sienna pinched the bridge of her nose. “You have got to be kidding me!” She levelled him with an angry scowl and demanded, “Explain to me, what has driven her to flee?”

“As I’m sure my officers have informed you, Belladonna was well known for her cowardice. We gave her the opportunity to change, but she refused it at every turn. Rather than her people, she has ultimately chosen herself and as such, has deserted.”

“Is that so? I was informed Belladonna was known for going above and beyond for her fellow soldier.”

“You have been misinformed, High Leader.”

She glared at him briefly. “I’m not inclined to believe you.”

“Oh? May I ask why that is so?”

Rather than answer him, Sienna turned to her assistant, a young and meek woman with a small pair of deer antlers. “Could you please read off Sergeant Belladonna’s statistics?”

“Oh, of course!” She opened the manilla folder she carried and hurriedly flipped through several papers. She stopped and cleared her throat. “Over the course of six years enlisted service, Sergeant Blake Belladonna of the First Wing is credited with one confirmed kill, um, one hundred seventy four confirmed takedowns in which the enemy pilot survived, uh… I-I’m sorry, High Leader, but may I ask that we’re sure these numbers are accurate? There’s no way this can be possible…”

“You may, I too didn’t believe them at first. However, I’ve had several sources both within and outside the First Wing confirm these counts.” She turned and looked Adam in the eye. “They’re real.”

“Thank you, mam. With that said, she is also credited with a combined forty six strider knockouts, one strider kill, achieved while on foot might I add, eighty two Orca kills and, um, _one hundred seventy nine_ Sparrow kills, holy... Um, d-despite these numbers being well above that of any of our pilots, Commander Taurus’ ranking structure only credits those with kills against manned aircraft. This places Sergeant Belladonna as the twelfth most credited pilot in our forces, right at the bottom of The First Wing. According to my notes, her position is not considered legitimate, but is instead honorary.”

Sienna turned and nodded her head to the woman. “Thank you, Samantha,” she turned back to him. “Now commander, you talk of Sergeant Belladonna as though she is merely a toddler in the cockpit. You’ve done that for as long as she’s been flying, but these numbers say otherwise. I had originally come here in hopes of offering my niece, our most deadly pilot, a temporary diplomatic position. Her refusal to kill would have been great value in the Vale talks. That is, it _would_ have been had you not authorized these night raids I’ve become aware of! I gave you explicit orders to hold off for the talks, and you _ordered them to drop more!”_ She jabbed her index finger into his chest, “What is your explanation?!?” 

Well, this sure wasn’t going swell. “Reconnaissance flights identified large scale artillery pieces being moved into position on the Valesh side of the front. Their position would have allowed them to strike Vale Command. Rather than allow our troops to be obliterated, I ordered the bombers to mobilize against this threat.”

“And the village two miles behind them was also deemed to be a threat?”

“Considering the presence of a supply yard and a large field hospital, yes.”

She opened her mouth to respond, angrily if he had to guess, but closed it instead. She took a deep breath and spoke in a calmer tone, “You seem to forget that Vale was changing its ways. Slowly, yes, but they were making actual progress in honoring our people’s rights. So much so, that we had agreed to avoid targeting their civilian settlements under _any_ circumstance. I know I gave you that order. I was under the impression that you had the ability to comprehend what I say to you, but apparently, your comprehension is selective. Now tell me, what possessed you to bomb that village?”

 _You test me._ Adam narrowed his eye as he replied, “You’ve said it yourself. If we must use force to achieve our goals, then that is what we will do. That village was a piece of the enemy’s war machine, a machine that was preparing to rain death upon our people. Because of this, High Leader, I determined the village to be a justifiable target and dealt with it in the utmost haste.”

She grabbed his tie and yanked him down to eye level. “In case your memory is failing, allow me to remind you of something. You. Answer. To me!” she snarled, releasing his tie at the end. “You should have told me about this situation, this isn’t the first time Admiral Ironwood would have overstepped his bounds. Do you really think Ozpin would be responsible for this? The same person who regularly holds back his forces to allow us to collect our dead and wounded? Ironwood seems to forget that he only has jurisdiction over his own forces and, unfortunately, people listen to him. I told you to do none of these things, and now that civilians have been killed, the people of Vale will call for blood more than they already are! Commander Taurus, you had better hope that Chancellor Ozpin wishes to continue talks, because if he doesn’t, you _will_ be replaced. I put you into command, I can remove you if that’s what is necessary. Are we understood?”

“Yes, High Leader.”

“While we’re having this lovely conversation, I want to remind you why we fight. We fight so that our people still living within the kingdoms can be treated with the fairness and respect they deserve. If we have to use force to achieve that, so be it, but we _do not_ fight just to kill! I believe you have forgotten that fact. Don’t, and you can start by grounding the bombers.”

“It will be done, High Leader.” Kahn nodded and took her leave, her assistant following suit. Adam ran his hand down his face. Today was just not his day. Kahn was really starting to become a problem, but at least she was still in the dark. He walked deeper into the building, unlocking the door to his office when he arrived there. He walked in and flopped into the leather chair behind his mahogany desk. After a moment to calm his roiling mind, he sat up and fished some order forms out of his desk drawer. The bombers were first on the list, but there was still the matter of finding that girl. Dozens of forms and several hours had passed by when somebody knocked on his door. “Enter.” The door opened and the Albain brothers entered. “Report.”

Corsac stepped forward. “Nemesis has been breached.”

Adam’s chair flipped onto it’s back with how abruptly he stood. He snarled out, “What do you mean ‘breached?’”

Fennec spoke, “Our researchers have reported that copies of almost all of the program’s blueprints and operating notes have been stolen. It is enough for another group to make their own devices with a minimum amount of reverse engineering. While we do not know for certain who is responsible… we do have a very good idea as to her identity.”

At first, Adam had wanted to call bull on that. There was no way _she_ could have done this. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. The timing was too perfect to be anyone else. Even if she was too weak and incompetent to do it herself, she could have manipulated somebody else to do the deed and then flown the material herself. It would fit in with the coward’s behaviors. Adam’s blood boiled even hotter. He leveled them with a scathing glare. “Who helped her?”

Corsac answered, “We do not know for sure, but we have our ideas. One of them is an ordinance provisioner named Tuckson Russet, who has been reported AWOL since you’ve been gone. He was the last person to have spoken to Belladonna before her departure this morning.”

Rage threatened to take control, but Adam held back the snarling hounds just a little longer. “Where was the traitor last seen?”

Fennec’s eyes widened and he pointed out the large window dominating the far wall. “I believe that is your answer.”

The window offered an expansive view over the back end of the airfield, so the three could see plain as day as a jeep careened down the road leading to the south gate. It swerved around other ground traffic, bursting into highspeed as the road to the gate cleared. The wooden gate arm stood no chance as a ton and a half of steel barreled through it, leaving splintered planks and shouting guards in its wake. Adam reached beneath his desk and retrieved the leather holster there. Despite being over twice the size and heft of the pistol holster on his right hip, he clipped it to his belt and stormed to the door. Before leaving, he addressed the brothers. “Have a breach report and Specialist Yuma in this office by the time I return.”

“What of Russet?” Corsac inquired.

“He’s _mine.”_

Indeed he was. The chase had been brief, as Adam knew the back roads and the traitor did not. Catching up hadn’t been a problem and neither had forcing the jeep off the road and into the ditch between it and a field. By the time Adam had casually descended the slope, his quarry had crawled from the wreck and started sprinting across the field. He wasn’t far enough. With a gleeful grin that didn’t reach his cruel eye, Adam curled his right hand around the handle of the weapon within the large holster. He drew it, flicking his hand upward so that the shotgun’s tube and barrel would clack into battery. In a smooth motion, he simultaneously brought the weapon to bare and cocked the bolt, a fresh shell slamming into the chamber when he released it. The shotgun boomed not even a second after his finger curled around the trigger. The traitor hit the deck, his agonized screams echoing against the tress surrounding them. It is rather hard to run on an annihilated knee, after all. Adam took his sweet time in plodding over, even thinking to slot a pair of fresh shells into the tube. He had left his hat and jacket in his own jeep, and the late afternoon sun felt good on his skin, even if it bore into his eye in a rather unpleasant way. The traitor had crawled some distance and had left a bloody trail in the tall grass behind him. How unsightly. Adam kicked him over onto his back, letting his gun hang limply at his side. This fight was over, it didn’t need to be ready. Still, depending on how he felt today, It may be useful. He met the traitor’s eyes. They were hazel, but in the sunlight, they brightened to yellow. While not an exact match, Adam’s rage burned cold. This would have to do for now. Still, there really wasn’t anything quite like the primal fear of impending death in an enemy’s gaze, even if they insisted on maintaining the façade of defiance. 

Adam fished his pack of cigarettes and lighter from his pockets, leisurely adding, “That was fun.”

“Fuck you!”

“Hmm, now that’s no way to address your superior officer.” _Damn lighter, work already!_

“Superi- Nrg! N-no, you’re a fucking monster! Bellad-donna was right to leave, I should have done so soo- Ah!”

Adam readjusted the grip on his shotgun, raising it back from where it’s muzzle had nudged the torn flesh of the traitor’s knee. He took a drag on his cigarette and puffed it out through his nose as he regarded the worm beneath him. His voice turned cold, “What do you know of her plans? Tell me, and I won’t need to reload.”

“N-nothing, I swear! She had me duped just like you!”

 _Keep it together._ “Then why run?”

“Because people die when they piss you off. You remember Trifa? Grey hair, spider faunus? Used to butt heads all the time with Amitola? I know you do, because she’s why your _actual_ top two pilots weren’t at Mountain Glenn. You had her and her friends all arrested. And you know what? _They were all dead within a week!_ Seems fishy as fuck, huh? They weren’t alone either, somebody crossed you and poof, they’re gone. Time and time again, that’s what happened. I was already planning on leaving, but Belladonna forced my hand.”

Adam nodded his head. _Reasonable enough, if utterly useless._ He tilted his head back, closing his eye as he took a long drag on his cigarette. The gun boomed. If the screams hadn’t clued him into the fact that he’d hit his target, the blood he’d felt splatter against his trousers and shirt did. He removed the stub from his mouth, flicking it aside. The traitor continued to writhe as he fed his gun another shell. So much for not needing to reload.

It took some time for the traitor to get his breathing under control, but when he did, he pleaded in a hoarse whisper, “W-Why? Why d-did you shoot-t my other knee, th-that was the truth!”

“I know.”

The traitor deflated, all of the fight and defiance leaving him. “Right. Now what?”

“Good question,” he nonchalantly replied. He brought his lighter up to ignite the second cigarette, but paused. _Hmm._ Adam didn’t light it, instead plodding over to the wrecked jeep. While the wreck was mangled, what he was looking for lay intact a short distance from it. His dress shoe thudded against the metal, a hearty sloshing echoing from within. He looked back to the tall grass. There had been a rain recently and this field still looked pretty wet. It should be fine. The pieces were coming together, there was just one more part to check. Adam tested his lighter, a grin forming when a delicate flame sprung to life. The tiny flame defiantly glowed within the abyssal depths of his cold glare. He clacked the lighter shut, a wolf’s smile reflecting in its shiny surface.

Adam reached down, hefted up the filled jerry can, and stalked to his prey.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She regretted it. Had Father not given her his ultimatum, Weiss would have apologized and bailed out right when she could tell her persistence was only adding fuel to what would become a flash inferno. But she hadn’t, and in doing so she reaped what she’d sown. Ruby’s asset file had made no mention of bottled rage in its character attributes section, but the brief detonation had been filled with nothing but. Dear brothers, she hadn’t pulled any of her punches. Hypothetical punches anyway, Ruby hadn’t laid a finger on her. Still, Weiss had felt safer knowing her concealed revolver’s non-lethal lightning dust cartridges would have protected her. But to be honest, Weiss deserved every blow, even if they had been physical. She had pulled every stop, even those she didn’t even want to think about saying. Who says, “do it for your country,” to somebody who had lost a parent to war? Weiss Schnee, apparently. She’d gotten good at playing as Father’s obedient little puppet. She knew he wanted Ruby onboard, badly at that, and she’d danced for her puppeteer. But none of that compared to why Weiss was now applying concealer to the bags beneath her eyes. This hadn’t been the first time she had so thoroughly sickened herself, after all. This time however, she hadn’t slept at all the night prior. That in of itself wasn’t an unheard of event, but what was had been the cause of this insomnia: one of the last things Ruby had said, and what she hadn’t.

“I believe I was born to create. It’s something that’s always come naturally to me, and I’ve used that gift to make all kinds of things. I build to better people’s lives in every way I can, but I’ve seen what others do with their gifts. They build to kill. But we don’t have to do that. I can build a gun to strike fear in our enemies’ hearts, or I could build a plane to bring hope to those who see it. The choice is ours and we can choose peace. I know what I’ve chosen, so if you seriously think I’m willing to let something I brought into this world be the reason we need more orphanages, _you’re out of your fucking mind._ I-I… I can’t do that to Her, I just _can’t._ Just… please go away.”

Ruby’s voice, once echoing around the small hangar with the might of molten fury, had dwindled to a choked whisper Weiss had barely registered. One that had been filled with nothing but anguish. Weiss had kept her mask on all the way up to her bedroom door clicking shut. She’d wept for hours, too embroiled in numbed self-loathing to sleep when the tears had dried. The SDC’s insistence on selling deadlier and deadlier weaponry made her feel like she’d been born into a death cult. Ruby was absolutely right, they had enough bodies to bury. But here she was, peddling the company’s poisons like Father’s good little girl. She couldn’t take it anymore, but what choice did she have but to endure? Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Weiss hadn’t submitted just yet. See, Father’s insistence that she learn the company’s parts and the hundreds of procedures that ensured all of the gears clicked in just the right way had allowed her to view myriad internal documents and data sheets. While the average person may have dreaded perusing and analyzing these paper’s, Weiss absolutely _thrived_ at this task. Her analytical mind made processing the data a breeze, and it allowed her to make some connections she suspected Father hadn’t intended, even with all the censoring.

Shit wasn’t adding up right.

She had known for a long time that Father never cared to play fair, especially after his new advisor had taken office, but the data she’d seen had confirmed this fact. She didn’t know what he was up to, but there was too many inconsistencies and just general sloppiness going on for her to believe her perceptive and incessantly controlling father had allowed it all to just pass by. Now if he was hiding something, that would explain all of these missing materials and resources in a heartbeat. It could just be something harmless, but what if it wasn’t? She had to get to the bottom of it. She’d been searching for anything to clue her in, so of course her sleep deprived mind had picked apart her earlier conversation. What else was there to do at one A.M.? Hours into the evening, Weiss had made a realization and she’d gotten up to confirm it with Ruby’s asset file. It was a collection of all the information the company’s scouts had gathered on her, and it included information on her parents. She hadn’t thought to check it for clues, but Ruby’s last words may have been the catalyst she needed. 

Just as she remembered, Ruby’s mother, one Lieutenant Summer Rose, had been killed in action right at the start of The Great War, just over fourteen years ago. According to this file, she’d been fighting in the first Vacuan assault when her squad had been ambushed by a light strider. Summer had fought the machine, earning her second service cross in the process as she covered her squad’s retreat, but ultimately paid for it in blood. That would definitely explain part of Ruby’s stance, as striders had been an invention of the SDC. While they were now used by all four kingdoms, that hadn’t been the case at the start, Atlas was the only kingdom with them when Summer died. Apparently this particular machine had been stolen by a spy, one that had ultimately failed to deliver the machine to Vacuo. While captured striders were known to have been encountered in the early days of the war, there was still a rather glaring question.

Why would a spy initiate an ambush?

Weiss turned from her mirror and strode across her room, passing through the doors onto the attached balcony. She leaned against the railing as the cool sea breeze passed through her snowy locks, the waves of the Valesh Channel reflecting the morning sunshine. She could see the kingdom’s skyline on the horizon from where the SDC’s Patch property stood. The small manor perched at the top of a hill that gradually flattened out to the beach far below her, where a small airfield with a single strip sat. As she leaned against the railing, a gorgeous SDC-3 “Ray” private airliner touched down and slowed itself to a crawl. She wearily sighed as the machine taxied to its hangar. What did it feel like to slip free of the bonds of gravity and soar? What was it like above the clouds? Would anyone be there to drag her down again, or would she truly be free of Father’s grasp out there? She hoped to gain those answers, but the likelihood she’d be able to answer them was slim to none. Even if she could, it wouldn’t change what she knew. There was no way Father had a benevolent project in the works. He’d be more likely to grow another head than to offer a hand to those who needed it without taking advantage of them. Even if he did, why keep it off the books? Whatever was going on, she’d find it and expose it. Hopefully, the company would still be standing afterward. But if doing so heralded in the undeniable end of the Schnee Dust Company, her family’s legacy?

She’d strike that match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it. All over all, I'm pretty happy about this one, I think I did well. As always, I'm interested in hearing your thoughts. Thank you for swinging by, and here's hoping the next chapter rolls out a little quicker.
> 
> Until then,
> 
> Take care.


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